Validating Occurrences: A Study in Emerald
by R-dude
Summary: A series of one-shots, each a standalone but in line with and potentially set in the Contractual Invalidation universe, in no particular chronological order.
1. Diplomacy

**~D~**

"Are we sure we're in the right place?"

Daphne looked to her left, seeing Potter's frown. She could understand his scepticism; whatever she'd expected, it wasn't this.

The small town in some forgotten corner of India had been abandoned long ago. The buildings had been derelict even when they'd been in use, now they were half-collapsed and faded. Forgotten by everything that mattered. The streets were empty aside from some muggle machines that hadn't seen use in over a decade. Despite herself, Daphne felt a sense of unease at the atmosphere of the ghost town.

She pulled her coat tighter around her. There was a chill in the air that her charms didn't seem to catch. At least she was safe from all the dust that seemed to permeate everything. Thank magic for small mercies.

"It has to be," she said. "Perenelle's nephew said they were here. What can you sense?"

Potter closed his eyes. She'd become more familiar with his skills in recent times, and knew that this wasn't necessary, but that it did assist the technique, probably due to heightened concentration.

"There's something … faint. Like it's about to slip away. Can't explain it any better."

"It sounds like a jinx to me," she said. "A compulsion, perhaps. Can you trace it?"

Potter squared his shoulders, the movement seeming larger by his long, dark brown coat. "No. It slips when I try to focus on it."

"Then triangulate."

He gave her an almost surprised look. The moron. "I can try that."

It took over half an hour, but Potter did eventually lead them deeper into the abandoned town, coming to a stop in front of a faded warehouse that was somehow still standing.

Looking at it, she had to repress a shudder. The half-broken front of the building seemed to grow taller, looming over her. She wanted to leave. To turn around now. She almost pulled Potter by the hand to do just that.

"This has to be it," she said, feeling certain and uncomfortable at the same time.

"Definitely," he agreed, voice slightly muted.

"Can you bring it down?"

"Yeah."

"Get to it."

He didn't reply, instead raising both his hands, holly wand held loosely on his right, and closed his eyes again.

"Keep an ear open, yeah?"

Muttering some things about ridiculous turns of phrase, Daphne kept watch while he focused on taking down the jinx barring them entry. She saw and felt it before long, the faint simmering in the air as the uncomfortable unease suddenly vanished.

Potter let out a breath, opening his eyes and lowering his hands. Neither spoke for a minute.

"Strauss is most probably in there," she noted.

"I know."

"He will not willingly part with the Stone shard that allows him to cling to life."

She could see the frown form on her partner's face.

"I'll explain things to him," he replied after a short pause. "Penrod is a good lad. He'll understand."

"And if he doesn't?"

His face, however imperceptibly, hardened. "We _need_ the shard," was all he said.

Fascinating. Even now, Daphne found herself surprised at how drastically his laid-back attitude changed when lives were on the line. It was … exciting, in a sense. It was why she'd tagged along for this ridiculous quest in the first place.

She couldn't help but poke at him. "Strauss is good," she said, smiling just a little. "Are you sure you are up for it?"

Potter turned to her, his grim visage replaced by slight shock. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I had front row seats to some of his matches," she explained. "I know he is, as they say, the real deal. And you? I bet your sides still hurt from that fall."

He scowled, but did not reply, instead moving forward and towards the door. Daphne hurried along after him with an indignant click of her tongue.

The inside of the warehouse was, if possible, _worse_ than the outside. Here, the dust had been allowed to fester, rising several inches up from the original floor and mixing with dirt and rubble. One would think that the presence of people would have disturbed the dust, but that could easily be remedied with magic.

If it wouldn't look ridiculous, Daphne would have applied a bubblehead charm. Rather, she sniffed her nose in distaste, looking around impatiently.

"Where are they?" she demanded. When she turned to look at Potter, she found him staring at a very specific point in front of them.

"I can see you," she heard him say, the translation charm making the German words seem English to her ears. "Drop the illusion." It hadn't been directed at her.

Daphne looked forward just in time to see the air shimmer once again and, almost like a falling curtain, two people were revealed, starting with their heads.

Belying his young age, Penrod Strauss was an imposing sight. Taller than Potter, holding himself with the same air of danger Daphne was used to by being around him, his dark eyes were narrowed and his lips pursed as he stared them down. His short wand, while not yet aimed at them, was firmly held in his left hand.

To his right was another person, much shorter, and perhaps a couple years younger. Long, silky black hair, narrowed blue eyes, she'd probably be considered pretty if she didn't look ready to murder someone. Them.

Strauss' friend and companion, maybe girlfriend? Daphne hadn't cared to learn the girl's name.

"Turn back," she heard Strauss' strong voice command.

"We just want to talk," she heard Potter's reply from her left.

"We have nothing to say to you," the girl said, voice surprisingly even. "We know you've been hunting us since Berlin."

"Hunting?" Potter asked. "No, we were _looking_ for you."

"Same difference," Penrod said. "I am not afraid of you, Mister Potter. If you have come for my life, I will fight for it."

Daphne almost snickered in sudden amusement. She'd often heard people threaten Potter, but never quite with this respect and reverence laced into his name. This would make decent joking fodder for the future.

Her thoughts returned to the situation at hand as Strauss' friend moved, her arm raising ever so slightly. Narrowing her eyes, Daphne raised her wand faster.

"Do not make any sudden moves, girl," she commanded, and her target froze. In response, Strauss raised his own wand.

"Woah, everybody calm down," she heard Potter say, and from the corner of her eyes saw him extend his hands, palms up, in a show of non-aggression. "Daphne, love, lower your wand. No one is fighting anyone here."

She did not, keeping her steady gaze at the snake next to Strauss. The girl was glaring back at her with the same intensity.

"Daphne," she heard his voice again, and this time it was different. More … tight. " _Lower your wand_." He hadn't shouted, but the commanding tone was undeniable. With a scoff she obeyed, though she didn't take her eyes off of the girl.

"Good," she heard Potter say, his usual jovial tone returning. "Now, this is what we're going to do. You and I are going to talk-"

"I refuse."

" _Listen to me_ ," Potter continued with an air of irritation. "I'm going to leave my wand here with Daphne, and the two of us will talk. Is that fine?"

She whipped her head over to Potter, abandoning her vigil over the younger woman. "Are you insane?" she hissed at him.

He threw her a look, part glare, part warning, and ignored her beyond offering her his wand, which she took after a second's hesitation. Potter took a few steps forward, arms open at his sides.

"See?" he said. "I just want to talk. Okay?"

Strauss looked uncertain for a few seconds, but then he straightened, lowering his wand and nodding to Potter.

"Come, there is a lot I must explain to you. If you'd excuse us, ladies."

Strauss' friend turned her glare to Potter. Daphne instantly wanted to curse her.

"I'm not leaving him alone with you," the girl said. "This has to be a trick." This time, it was Strauss himself who talked to her.

"Kera, it will be fine. He is unarmed."

"You really believe that?"

Strauss frowned at her, before shaking his head once. "I will talk with Mister Potter, Kera. He is an honorable man. He deserves that much. Don't do anything until we're done."

With that, the two males converged and headed deeper into the warehouse. No doubt Potter was looking for a slightly more comfortable place in which to work his metaphorical magic on the boy. She trusted in his ability to get people to agree with him, but this wasn't something she could leave to chance.

"Girl," she said, drawing the younger woman's attention away from the retreating backs of their partners. "Come here."

The girl threw her a look of suspicion. Collected, but clearly disdainful. Impressive, for one so young.

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk. Now come."

Though clearly reluctant, the girl - Kera - came closer nonetheless. She crossed her arms, her wand was still held tightly. Foolish little thing, she wouldn't have enough time to untangle her arms if the situation arose that she'd have to use it.

"I dislike mincing words," Daphne said. "So I will say it straight. You are going to give us the shard."

The girl's eyes narrowed. "Are we now?"

She nodded. "Oh, yes. One way or another. There is no need for such dramatics."

"I won't allow that. The shard is the only thing keeping Penrod alive, I won't let you have it. I won't!"

Ah, love. The selfish kind, too. Daphne knew it well.

"He will be fine for the few days it will take us to break the curse with the shard. After that, it will be returned."

"And what if it doesn't work?" Kera challenged. "What if it takes longer than you expected, or if the shard gets broken or lost, or the curse lingers on it after the ritual?"

Daphne tilted her head slightly to the right. "Then dearest Penrod will die."

The girl's teeth ground together as her jaw set in an expression of anger. Despite the faint wetness of her eyes, Daphne saw steel in there.

"Unacceptable."

"Many people will die because of the curse created by the shard's residual magic. Some of them are your acquaintances, if I'm not mistaken. Though you weren't the owners at the time, you are still the only way to save them."

Her eyes were hard, and she said nothing.

"You do not care, do you?" Daphne asked, strangely fascinated. "Dozens could potentially perish, but it is fine with you as long as your beloved survives." She found herself smiling. _Good girl_.

"Do not lecture me as if you care about their lives," Kera bit back. "I can tell that you don't. Why are you doing this?"

Daphne's gaze wandered to the other side of the warehouse. Outside the open doors, she could see Harry and Penrod having a hushed, though animated, conversation under a tree.

"Same reason as you."

There was silence for a second or two, the girl too shocked to properly respond, but she recovered quickly.

"Then-... then you understand. You understand why I can't let you have the shard, don't you?"

Was that a shred of pleading in her tone? Amusing.

"Which brings me back to my original point. We will get the shard one way or another. It is better for you to just hand it over without a fuss."

"Pen is strong," Kera said, confidence back in her expression. "If you attack us, we can win."

Daphne raised an eyebrow. "That, there," she said, pointing, "is Harry Potter. You are aware, are you not?"

"Pen is strong," the girl was quick to repeat. "He can win."

Daphne didn't miss the waver in her tone. "Are you willing to risk that?"

For a few seconds, the girl was terribly silent. Daphne bid her time, feeling quite comfortable. She could understand this girl. Relate to her, even. But Kera was several years too young and inexperienced to refuse _her_ anything.

"E-even if you beat us," she eventually said, "we weren't stupid enough to carry the shard with us. This will have been for nothing."

"Again, this is why I said that it is better for everyone if you just hand it over."

"And you expect me to just trust you and hope it all goes well?"

"In essence, yes. Though if it makes you feel any better, you do not have to trust _me_. Just trust _him_."

The girl looked shaken, but still not quite broken. Daphne leaned in slightly, getting into her personal space as her edge in height made her loom slightly over the younger woman.

"You do not seem to understand," Daphne said, voice barely above a whisper. "For some moronic reason, Potter assumed responsibility for the lives of those people. If you refuse to give us the shard and the peasants die, it will crush him. Seeing as I live with him, a situation like that is … unacceptable."

Daphne's hand snaked up, finding its way to Kera's cheek, caressing it gently. She froze at the falsely familiar contact. Poor thing.

"Do you get it now? You cannot hide from me. It will be better for you, and especially dearest Penrod, if you cooperate. At least this way, you have a best case scenario. Am I making myself clear?"

Had she been too hard on her? The girl was putting on a good act of staying stoic but to Daphne's expert eyes, she could see it fall apart at the seams; from the increased wetness on her lashes, to the barest tremble of her lip, to the way her grip on her arm and wand tightened.

In truth, she didn't blame her. She'd have probably done the same thing if she were in her position and age. But she wasn't. And here they both were.

She noticed Harry and Strauss had seemingly ended their conversation and were coming back towards them.

She leaned in further and her hand on Kera's cheek moved, gently wrapping it around her shoulder as her mouth came to rest next to Kera's ear.

"Now, you are going to compose yourself and convince Penrod to give us the shard."

She pulled back, putting her other hand on Kera's free shoulder, giving her a smile that must have looked very friendly to the approaching men.

"And as we leave, you're going to see us off and wish we succeed, and you're going to _mean_ it."

The girl could only nod, and then they weren't alone anymore.

"Everything alright here?" Potter asked as he and the young dueling prodigy came to a stop in front of them. Daphne gave him an innocent smile.

"Of course."

Potter's expression grew alarmed and he opened his mouth to speak, but Strauss beat him to it.

"Kera," he said, voice much gentler than it had been earlier. "I spoke with Mister Potter. He explained the situation. They weren't trying to rob us, or kill me. People are in danger. We … _I,_ have to help them. I can't just stand by when I'm the only one who can-, Kera?" The girl's head was bowed and, tall as he was, he couldn't look at her face, so he reached with his hand, gently taking her under the jaw and coaxing her head higher.

The girl was crying. How … sad.

Strauss' face looked pained. "Listen, I want to do it. Please, Kera, don't fight me on this."

The girl's crying eyes flit towards Daphne, who didn't react in any way. Kera's right hand came up and she wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

"No, I-" she paused to clear her throat. "I agree. There's no other way."

The young man looked shocked at that. "You agree? Truly?"

The girl gave a nod. "There's no other way," she repeated, and her voice sounded haunted to Daphne's ears.

 **~D~**

Several minutes, an address and a few promises later, she and Potter were leaving the warehouse, heading further away in order to Disapparate.

"See?" Potter exclaimed from her side. "I told you it'd work out. I knew Penrod was a good man."

"Yes, Harry," she agreed with a nod. "You did a great job convincing him."

His elation curbed for a second, Potter turned frowning eyes at her. "What was that back there, by the way? Don't think I missed it. What did you _do_ to that girl?"

Daphne's expression didn't change as she took her lover's hand, preparing for the uncomfortable feeling of Apparition.

"I just explained to her how the world works. One day, she will thank me."

 **~D~**


	2. Responsibility

**~H~**

Harry Potter was no stranger to unexpected, unexplained situations. So, when the otherwise clear evening skies suddenly burst into flames and seemed to split in two, followed by a thunderous noise, more terrible than any storm, he didn't panic.

He, along with his friend Ron, had been following the trail of a rather nasty goblin that had scammed Ron's business, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. A personal request, such that Harry chose to see it through in his free time, not as an official Auror Office operation.

Of course, being the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, he could easily retroactively add it to the logs, which he would once the goblin had been apprehended. They were trekking their way through the countryside of Portugal, following the residue of the goblin's magic, when the sky had exploded.

Through the fiery rift and amid the continuous, near-deafening booms, Harry watched as a flaming meteor came down from the heavens. It was far in the distance from the duo, but the falling ball of fire was unmistakable.

Watching it make its deceptively slow descent, both Harry and Ron cast a slew of protective charms around, knowing that an impact of such magnitude would create a wave of force. True enough, when the meteor crashed down behind the hill they could see, their enchantments were bombarded by kinetic force, smoke and a bit of debris.

Once that stopped, they dropped the charms and observed. The sky seemed to revert, the dancing conflagration above them extinguishing, and the rift in its midst vanishing.

Ron threw him a wary look. "God _dammit_ , Harry."

Harry glared at him. "What?"

"This is _your_ fault."

"How is this my fault?"

"You're _you_ ," Ron accused. "This kind of shit always happens around you."

Harry did not want to dignify that with an answer, so he returned his gaze to the rising pillar of smoke in the distance, signifying the impact point.

"What now?" Ron asked after a few seconds.

"Let's go closer."

With no further words, the two of them Apparated to the top of the hill in front of them. From there, they could see the crater of upturned earth created by the impact, perhaps a few dozen meters in diameter. Its center was still smoking, reducing visibility. Thus, they walked towards it, climbing over the edge of crater and heading towards the center.

What they found there was not a mass of interstellar minerals. It was something much more unlikely. Laying unconscious in the middle of the crater was a person.

Harry's eyes narrowed once he got a better view through the smoke. It resembled a person, but several key features were different.

"Harry," he heard Ron's voice from next to him, equal parts amazement and disbelief, "Are those …"

"I'm seeing what you're seeing, Ron."

"What _is_ it?"

"It looks like a woman."

"It is very clearly _not_."

 _Well put,_ Harry thought, for while the being certainly looked an adult woman, strewn around her, bent at odd angles and seemingly sloughing off in places, were wings. Burned, blackened wings, thick with some sort of ichor that seemed to slowly solidify, but wings nonetheless. They stretched a great deal, their full span to Harry's approximation exceeding twenty meters, but they were bent in on themselves and around the woman's body in what looked like a painful way.

The woman was fully naked, and her dark red hair half-covered her face, though he could tell she was unconscious.

"What do we do?"

"We can't leave her here," Harry replied. The Portuguese Ministry was tricky to deal with, having been taken over almost completely by criminal organizations and lobbyists. Until Harry knew what he was dealing with, he wouldn't let this being fall into their hands.

"Well, whatever you want to do, we need to move quick. Half the continent must have seen this light show."

Harry produced his wand, casting a spell at the creature. He wasn't particularly surprised when it had no effect.

His next spell was designed for dealing with exactly spell resistant creatures, and manipulated the air around it rather than the creature itself. Like this, he managed to levitate her.

"Will Apparition work?" Ron asked. Harry honestly didn't know, but he could sense, in the far distance, people approaching quickly.

"We'll have to risk it," he replied, before taking hold of the unconscious figure's wrist.

As one, the two of them Disapparated, Harry pulling the creature with him. They reappeared outside a small, wooden house in some woods in Spain, which acted as their temporary base of operations. There was nothing in the distance as far as the eye could see, apart from grass and trees.

Still holding onto the woman's wrist, Harry gently led the floating figure towards the house. It required magic to fit the still smoking wings through the entrance, and then through the door to the bedroom. A few expanding charms later and the room was thrice its original size, the bed equally lengthened to accommodate its new guest.

With more flicks of his holly wand, the woman's body was cleansed of all soot, soil and dust. He tried to adjust the pathetic remnants of her wings such that they would not be uncomfortably crushed under her body, but as he didn't know how they worked he couldn't be sure. They seemed to sprout straight out of her back, facing away from each other, so laying her face-up was possible. He stretched the wings, guessing at a comfortable position, before covering up the woman with the bedsheets.

His work for the moment, done, his attention returned to the wings. He watched with rapt, morbid fascination as the last remaining feathers disintegrated, leaving only the bony skeletal structure of the original wings. Burned flesh still remained in patches here and there, but the wings didn't look serviceable. Even so, the dark ichor that seemed to seep out of the bones continued to solidify between them, slowly creating a thin membrane.

"That is _freaky_ ," Ron said, still standing at the entrance of the room, drawing his attention. His mind returned to work, thinking over what would need to be done, and what he knew. Not much.

"I need you to go back, Ron."

"Huh? Why?"

"In case I need the Office to mobilise instantly. Go to Dawnson, tell him to have his boys at the ready."

"How much do I tell him?"

Harry shook his head. "Tell him nothing. Tell no one of what you saw. Until I know what's going on, I'd rather this be kept under wraps. Just tell him to be ready."

"But Harry!" Ron exclaimed, looking frightened for the first time. "What if _Hermione_ asks me?"

Harry resisted the urge to groan and palm his face. "Magic's sake Ron, you can lie to your wife for _once_."

"But-"

"Tell her I told you to say nothing, even to her. Auror business. Let her be mad at _me._ "

That seemed to appease Ron. "What about the goblin?"

"To hell with the goblin," Harry replied. "This takes priority."

Ron nodded, accepting his words.

"What is it?" Harry asked, noting that his friend seemed worried.

"What do I do if Greengrass asks me what you're doing?"

That _was_ an issue. Harry hadn't thought about what his strong-willed significant other would think of him staying off the grid without her.

"Tell her nothing. I don't want her involved."

Ron winced. "She won't like that."

"No," Harry agreed with a sigh, "she won't. Best to keep away from her, too, in case she tries to _make_ you tell her."

"Probably right," Ron muttered. Both their eyes returned to the sleeping figure on the bed, taking in the situation in silence for a minute.

Ron let out a whistle after a while.

"Bloody hell, though," he said. "That's an _angel_ , Harry."

Though silently agreeing, Harry didn't express it. "We don't know what she is yet."

Ron shrugged. "Sure looks like one. I'll be going then. I'll have the mirror on me in case you want to pass on a message."

Harry nodded, and Ron walked out, before leaving the house altogether and Apparating away.

Now alone, Harry regarded the sleeping form of the angel, thinking. His wand-hand moved, casting spells as fast as he could think them. Most failed, unable to directly affect or assess her. The rest, meant to examine the immediate surroundings of her body, returned nothing useful. Harry wasn't a researcher, and while he could examine magic quite extensively with his skillset, it didn't seem to cut it in this case. The creature resisted all forms of examination or intrusion.

He could _sense_ her, but little else. She felt … unique. Not muggle, not wizard, not any kind of creature he'd met before.

Having exhausted everything he could think of, Harry sat on a chair, resigned to wait until she came to. Hopefully it would be soon.

The charm he'd cast to jolt him when there was movement activated, and his eyes snapped open. With a start, he realized that he'd snoozed off on the chair. As his awareness grew, he inwardly chastised himself. That had been sloppy. Sloppy and dangerous.

Thankfully, it seemed that danger was not forthcoming.

The woman was finally awake, and Harry saw for the first time a pair of clear white eyes observing him from the bed. From the relaxed state of unconsciousness, her features had gained a neutral, assessing air. She was observing him, saying or doing nothing. She'd sat up on the bed, seemingly unconcerned over her nakedness.

When no words were forthcoming from her, Harry broke the silence.

"Hello," he said, tone friendly, unaggressive. "How are you feeling?"

For a few seconds, the angel just stared at him, unblinking. Harry thought that perhaps she might not have understood him, but then her jaw moved, her mouth opening to accommodate speech.

A terrible, wonderful feeling overcame Harry. A deafening sound that felt like no sound at all. A thousand gentle hymns reverberated inside his head, or they might have been furious curses. The oppressive feeling permeated his body and he gasped, pain flooding his senses as he vaguely realized that he was flying through the air amidst the ruined remnants of the chair he'd been sitting on.

A second later he crashed against the wall of the room but felt no pain, senses still overcome by the confusing, overwhelming feeling of the angel's unintelligible speech; if that had been speech at all.

The sudden assault ended as abruptly as it begun and normal feeling returned to his body, just in time for the regular pain to kick in. He groaned as he lay on the ground, his back throbbing in pain and the few shards of the wooden chair that had pierced his legs sending short bursts of pain through his nerves.

Before he could lift his eyes or recover his strength enough to move, he heard a fluttering, and then a gentle hand was laid against the side of his head.

"I'm sorry," he heard her voice; a clear, gentle and melodious thing. "The speech of my kind can not be withstood by mortals. I made a mistake."

Harry had regained enough strength to gingerly pull himself up, pulling out the shrapnel with a hiss of pain. He summoned his wand to his hand and began to close the wounds. When he was feeling okay, if sore, he looked up to see her bent over him, one hand extended toward him, ruined wings stretched fully, something that the room's original dimensions could not have allowed.

"Your English is impeccable," he noted. "Maybe you should've led with that."

"I learned it just now."

He regarded her warily. After a few seconds, he accepted her offered hand, and together they rose to their feet. Harry was taller than her, by about half a head, but he still felt small. Must have been the wings.

He coughed into his hand.

"Right, I think there are some clothes in the closet there. They're for a man, but-"

She tilted her head to the side. "Clothes?"

"Well, yes. You can't go around naked, you know."

"No?"

"Preferably not, no."

"Will this do?"

And suddenly the woman was clothed. After a fashion. A simple set of fabrics under what looked to be … bronze armor plates?

"Err, no. Not quite."

"How about this?"

Harry blinked. Now she wore an elaborate, quite sizable purple dress, dating back to the victorian era. Her wings were still there, and the result was quite impressive.

"Closer, but no."

The woman frowned, and her apparel changed once more. Harry blinked, to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He didn't even _know_ what she was wearing, this time. It looked like a full-body grey suit of some sort, very thin, but with a very solid look. Blue lights blinked here and there.

"What even _is_ that?" he asked.

"I miscalculated the age," the woman said, sounding mildly irritated. Then suddenly, she was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a white shirt. "Is this alright?"

"Um, sure, but what was that grey thing?"

"Your species would come to use this, in time."

"Then, you're from the future?"

She shook her head. "That is a flawed question. My kind exist outside your perceived stream of the time continuum."

"Ah … okay." It didn't make too much sense to Harry, but he could accept it as something he did not understand and at least he now knew something about her.

"Well, we got off to a bad start. My name's Harry Potter," he introduced himself, extending his hand. The angel blinked, seeming surprised, and stared down at his hand, making no move.

"You're supposed to shake it," Harry said, realizing that she probably didn't know. His other hand gently took hold of hers, leading it to his own, then gently shook them in demonstration. "Then you give your own name in return."

"You should not give your name so freely, Harry Potter."

Harry froze when she spoke his name, feeling tendrils of foreign influence seep into him, awash with possibilities.

"One's true name, willingly given, carries power, in my world. You should be more careful with it."

Harry could feel what she meant. From the oppressive sensation of her will on him, he understood that he had given her some measure of dominion over him.

Still, he did not panic.

"Well, this is _my_ world," he said, ignoring her frown and the intrusive sensation. "And over here, you offer your name as a courtesy, to people you want to get to know."

The invitation was clear, and he looked at her with a straight face as he waited. The angel stared back at him, expression unreadable, for a minute.

Eventually, she spoke.

"My name … is Yahoel."

Harry felt a similar sensation then, only reversed. He could feel his will, some part of him, establish itself over Yahoel. The possibility was there, he knew instinctively. But now they were on equal grounds.

"Thank you for trusting me, Yahoel."

"You … took care of me, did you not? You brought me here? You watched over me while I was settling in this form?"

Harry nodded, thought quite sure what the last part had meant.

"Then you are afforded trust."

Harry smiled. "I'm glad you see it that way."

"Do not betray my name to anyone else, or use it against me."

"I won't," Harry assured her. Now that this was done, there were other things to consider. But perhaps they could wait a bit. "Are you hungry?"

She frowned again. "You mean … sustenance?"

"Yup."

"I don't think you have what I require for such."

"Hey, don't knock it 'till you've tried it. Pull your wings closer and follow me to the kitchen."

She complied and the ruined, now membranous wings seemed to fold, taking up a lot less space behind her. Harry led her to the kitchen and did his best to prepare a decent meal, greatly facilitated by magic. As she wasn't a muggle, there wasn't really a need to hide magic from her, and she didn't skip a beat upon first witnessing it.

Yahoel did nothing for a bit, simply watching him eat, then proceeded to perfectly imitate him and did him the courtesy of eating the food with slow, steady bites, until her plate was empty.

"How was it?" Harry asked her once they were finished.

"Pleasing, but pointless, as I gain no nutritional value."

"Entertainment is a point of its own, I suppose."

"Is it?"

"It is to me."

They sat silence for minute, plates empty. Harry thought it was comfortably so, but he didn't know she thought.

Harry pursed his lips. "I'd like to ask you a few questions. Would that be alright?" he said eventually. Yahoel's eyes rested on him from their previous idling.

"Ask, then."

Better to start with something simple. Ease into it. "What happened to your wings?"

Her right wing, almost instinctively, stretched a little, curving around until its edge was in front of Yahoel, who laid a hand against the flimsy membrane now stuck between the bones.

"Entry into your realm was … more difficult than I had expected."

"Will they be okay? I saw them burning when I found you."

"They are still functional. Just … _less_."

Harry nodded, in lieu of anything else. "What are you, exactly?"

Her brow furrowed momentarily. "I am Yahoel."

"I mean, what about your species? I've never seen your likeness before, nor heard tale of it."

"In your language, we are the Children," Yahoel said.

"Whose children?"

"Of our Father. Our creator."

That didn't answer any of Harry's questions, but it was an answer he could maybe work with. Rapping his knuckles against the wooden table, he continued.

"I don't mean to be rude, but why did you come here?"

Yahoel blinked at him, and when she did Harry realized that he'd never actually seen her blink before. She didn't reply for a long moment, and her expression seemed to grow pensive, withdrawn. Her eyes slid away from his.

"Yahoel?" he asked, when it seemed that no answer was forthcoming, and her gaze snapped back to him.

"I … am not sure."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't remember. I know I had a purpose, but … I cannot recall it. My journey here took a large toll."

"Is there nothing? Not even a detail, however insignificant?"

She was frowning now, straining against some unseen pressure.

"I think there is … there is a threat, coming to this place. That's why I came. Thinking about it is oddly discomforting. Painful, even."

"A threat? Of what kind?"

"I … cannot recall. That's all I can remember."

"And you came here to, what? Combat it? Warn us?"

Yahoel shook her head. "I do not recall."

Harry, who had been about to insist, paused. She'd sounded upset, and he did not want to upset her. Decency as well as self-preservation urged him to lay off, and so he did.

"I'm sure it will come to you with time."

"Perhaps."

"Come on, let's go for a walk."

She looked at him, puzzled. "A walk?"

"Entertainment, remember? Don't you take walks where you come from?"

She did not reply, and he did not press. He got up, and motioned for her to do the same. He lead the way outside and she followed.

As soon as they had cleared the house, Yahoel's leathery wings stretched, presumably enjoying the freedom of movement. Gentle movements from the wings elevated Yahoel off the ground, making her hover next to him at eye-level. Harry did not comment, assuming she found this way to be more comfortable. There was little chance of anyone nearby seeing them, after all.

 **~H~**

For the next several days, Harry lived alone with Yahoel. It presented a problem, certainly, but he didn't want to leave her alone, confused as she was, and he _definitely_ wanted to be around when she remembered more of that threat she mentioned, so he stayed. Taking her back to England with him … didn't seem like a good idea.

The Ministry would be fine without him for a few days. He trusted his colleagues, and from mirror correspondence he knew that there were no emergencies that absolutely required his presence.

Yahoel was … reserved. Quiet, rarely spoken, but with an inquisitive nature. She would look around, or at something Harry did, and Harry would get the feeling that she had questions but would not voice them. Not that she always refrained.

"What is that?" she asked him on the second night as he pulled out a bottle of White Dragoon and poured two glasses.

"This?" Harry said, "this is alcohol."

"Is it part of your nutritional needs?"

Harry chuckled. "It's _all_ a person needs, honestly."

Yahoel nodded. "I see. Having it in drinkable form does seem more practical."

Harry stared at her, still holding onto his glass. "That was sarcasm," he said.

She furrowed her brow. "What is sarcasm?"

Harry blinked at her for a few seconds. How did he explain irony?

"Basically," he began, "it's when you purposely say something blatantly untrue or unlikely in order to mock it. Can be funny, can be contemptuous."

"So … you say something but you mean something else?"

"Yeah."

"Humans are … peculiar," she concluded. Her fingers drummed against the glass he'd passed her, as yet untouched. "What about this, then?"

"Alcohol has little to no nutritional value," he clarified.

"Then why consume it?"

"It helps people unwind. It's good for stress relief, or relaxation. People bond over it, sometimes. It's a cultural thing, I suppose. Can be dangerous on large quantities, but otherwise harmless."

Yahoel looked down at her glass of clear liquid. "So consuming this helps you bond with each other?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"I see."

Then she took the glass in hand and drank it, before setting it back back in the same spot. Harry was left looking at her, and she blinked.

"Did I not do it right?" she wondered.

"You generally don't drink it all in one go," Harry noted, finally sipping his own drink, "but it's not that big of a deal. How'd you find it?"

"Not particularly noteworthy."

Harry shrugged.

"It's an acquired taste, really."

 **~H~**

The next day, he noticed Yahoel's eyes linger on him as he was setting up and lighting the fireplace.

"What?" he asked, turning his head to look at her. "It's getting chilly."

"What is the purpose of this action?"

"I'm lighting a fire to keep warm."

"You require external sources of heat?"

"Yes."

"Can your power not provide you with it?"

"I suppose I _could_ use a warming charm," he replied, eyes back on the budding fire, "but I prefer this."

"I don't understand."

"I like not relying on magic for everything," he explained. "Makes me feel more connected to the world around me. Sometimes it's good to kill some time."

Yahoel frowned. "Your power is part of you, Harry Potter. Using it to accomplish something does not diminish the accomplishment."

Harry hadn't thought of it that way. "I suppose you're right. Even still, there's ritual value in doing something by hand, or using alternative, less practical means."

"You mean that it makes you feel more at ease?"

"Yeah."

"Fascinating."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head.

 **~H~**

"Good morning," Harry said after waking up in the morning of the fourth day and set about making a cup of tea. She was sitting on the couch, wings wrapped around herself. "How was your night?"

"I waited in this spot for you to awaken."

"Sounds rough."

"Humans waste a lot of time sleeping."

Harry shrugged. "That's how our bodies function."

"I don't like it."

Harry chuckled as he filled and drank a glass of water, even as he stirred his mug of tea.

"You consume a lot of water daily," Yahoel noted.

"We have to. Our bodies are mostly made of the stuff."

"It seems to be your primary source of nourishment," Yahoel agreed. "Is that why you have so many sources of it in your settlement?"

"Not all of those are for drinking," Harry said as he took his tea and sat next to her. "You only drink from the kitchen sink, and not even there in some countries."

"What about the sources of water in the other room?" she said, pointing down the hall. "You make regular use of it."

"That's the bathroom," Harry clarified. "Water there is not suited to drinking."

"Why not?"

"I'm … not sure? It's impure, or something? Water needs to be processed to be safe."

"And how is that process done?"

"We do it with magic. Not sure how the muggles do it."

"So your main source of nourishment is processed and contains things unknown to you?"

Harry considered.

"It sounds bad when you say it like that."

"It sounds irresponsible. Unsafe."

"It's fine."

"I visited this _bathroom_ while you were asleep. I was curious."

"Oh?"

"I found something I cannot explain."

"What was it?"

And suddenly Yahoel's hand was holding something. A small, yellow rubber ducky.

"What is this?"

"It's plastic, formed in the likeness of one of our animals."

"I know that," Yahoel replied, sounding incensed, "but what is it _for_?"

"Children use it when they bathe as a toy, for entertainment and distraction. Not your kind, of course. _Our_ children."

"You have no offspring."

"I don't."

"So you have no use for this."

"I suppose so."

"Then why does it _exist?_ "

"Does it need a to have a use in order to exist?"

Yahoel turned to him, expression confused.

"Yes."

"I don't think so."

"This doesn't make sense."

"Not everything has to."

Yahoel spent the next while staring down at the rubber duck in her hands. What she was thinking, Harry could not tell.

 **~H~**

"Do not go," Yahoel told him as he was about to head to bed on the night of the sixth day.

"Sorry?"

"Do not go to sleep," she said. "I am bored when you do."

Harry chuckled. "Sorry, but I have to. Why don't you read a book to pass some time?"

The angel's brow furrowed. "A book?"

"You don't know what a book is?"

"No."

Harry _Summoned_ one from the small bookshelf on the wall.

"This is a book," he said. "We have used those for thousands of years to record knowledge, chronicles, made-up stories, anything you can think of."

"Why?"

"Because humans forget. Humans die."

"Oh," Yahoel said, sounding mildly surprised. "Yes, I suppose they do."

"Our memory is not perfect, but with these, we can retain knowledge forever. Or at least, for however long the book or its copies last."

"I see. Clever."

"Can you read it?"

Yahoel took the book in her hand, observing it for a second. "I can now."

"Great," Harry said as he made to stand up. "Well, see you tomorrow."

"Wait," the redhead exclaimed, her hand clasping his wrist. He gave her a questioning look.

"What is it?"

"Read to me."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Read something to me, Harry Potter. I want to listen."

Harry considered the merits of refusing, but her hopeful, expectant face was too much. With a sigh, he sat back down on the couch.

"Alright," he said, "but only for a little while."

"Okay."

"And for your first book, I don't think this will do," he said as he _Banished_ the book back to its shelf and _Summoned_ another. A well-worn, small blue book. One of Harry's favorites.

"Get comfortable," he advised. She shifted, leaning closer to him, her wings open and extending over the couch as she looked down at the book over his shoulder.

"I'm ready," Yahoel said, and Harry began the tale.

" _There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight…_ "

 **~H~**

Harry suddenly perked up on the evening of the seventh day, his sense for magic picking up presences that his other senses could not. Presences that had no business being there.

Worse still, he recognized one of them.

"Wait here," he told Yahoel, who had been busy sitting in a chair and reading a book as he hastily got up.

"What's going on?" he heard her voice from the living room while opening the door.

"Stay inside," he warned, before closing the door behind him.

His produced his wand in his right hand and moved forward, frowning and thinking furiously to himself. This place was supposed to be _safe_. Untrackable. No one was meant to find them there.

And yet someone had.

Two dozen paces later he saw them and came to a stop. A team of six men, with the man he knew in the middle, taking point. Adriano Valdez, a senior lieutenant of the Portuguese Ministry's Enforcers.

How had they found him?

They too stopped when they saw him and his wand, arraying themselves in a loose semi-circle around him. All of them bore wands, but only the leader wore the orange robes of the Portuguese Ministry. That was good.

"Mister Valdez," Harry greeted the man. "Good evening."

A rugged-looking man in his fifties with unkempt, mostly grey hair, Adriano Valdez gave him a clearly hostile, suspicious look.

"And who're you?" he replied in English, though with a rough accent.

"My name is Harry Potter."

Valdez laughed, a wheezing, mocking thing, and some of his men followed cue.

"You think I believe that?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Harry Potter is far away, in Britain. You? I think you's just a guy who fancied himself a scar and thinks the name'll save 'im. Hell, the scar doesn't even look right."

"I take offense to that."

"Here's the deal. You give us what you found and we'll let you go."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't play the fool, boy! The thing that fell outta the sky! When we went there place was empty. Whatever it was, hand it over."

"Look, meteors burn up in entry all the time-"

"They don't make craters that size, do they? Now for the last time, hand it over."

With the threat said, all six raised their wands, aiming them at Harry. He didn't reply, weighing his options, figuring the best opener to the inevitable fight. He should probably take out the ones further to the sides, first. Then-

"Harry Potter."

The stalemate was broken by Yahoel's voice, which instantly drew everyone's attention. Harry, unthinking of all the wands pointed at him, turned to look.

There she was. A simple blanket wrapped around her over her clothes, hiding most of her torso and her arms, wings beating steadily and keeping her afloat a meter above ground.

"I told you to stay inside!" Harry shouted, because now things got trickier. Any chance, however slight, of resolving this without violence just evaporated.

"Are you being threatened by these men?" Yahoel asked him, ignoring the awestruck men and focusing her peering gaze on him.

Harry, still caught off-guard and mouth slightly slack, was slow to respond and Valdez beat him to it. Harry didn't understand Portuguese, but he could recognize a swear when he heard it. He whirled his head around just in time to see Valdez, amazed eyes still locked on the angel, shout a command at his men.

All of them fired spells at once, aiming at either him or Yahoel. Harry jerked, positioning himself between them and her and casting the strongest shield he could muster.

To his surprise, nothing impacted his _Protego_. An immediate inspection of his surrounding bore the bizarre sight of both the six attackers and their spells petrified; the men unmoving and the spells frozen in the air, menacing streaks of blue and red and purple, all aimed towards him but not budging an inch forward.

He turned his head around to see Yahoel with her arm raised towards them. That was _her_ doing?

A mighty beat of her wings later, the angel landed next to him.

"Answer me, Harry Potter."

Harry blinked, adrenaline still coursing through him as he came to terms with the suddenly turned situation.

"What was that?"

"Are these men threatening you?"

"Well, threats generally predate the use of lethal force."

Yahoel frowned, in the way that Harry had come to understand meant she didn't get something.

"That means yes," he added.

"I see. Cover your eyes."

"Wha-" Harry didn't have time voice his question, as he was forced to do exactly as she suggested, bringing both his hands and clapping them over his eyes in an effort to stave off the sudden blinding light that erupted in front of him. Even with both eyelids shut and his hands covering his glasses, he could still _see_ the bright white light. It was intense enough to hurt.

He backpedalled instinctively, trying to put distance between himself and the light's source, but the barrage ended as suddenly as it began.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the lack of the light, but once he regained his vision the first thing he saw was Yahoel, looking mildly pleased.

What he saw when he turned his head left nearly made him throw up his lunch.

Where previously six men had stood, now there was naught but six small piles of gore, little more than heaps of red goo and the areas around them covered in red. In blood.

Harry dry-heaved, bringing a hand to his mouth to hold himself back from puking.

He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder. "Are you alright? Did they manage to hurt you?"

He jerked himself away, managing to stand upright despite the twisting in his stomach, tearing his eyes away from the massacre to stare at Yahoel, eyes wide and horrified.

"What did you _do_?" he shouted, voice slightly off-pitch.

Yahoel frowned. "They were threatening you," she noted. "You are precious to me, so I defended you."

"You … you killed them!"

"I did."

"Why?"

This time, Yahoel seemed confused. "Because they were threatening you."

"You had already incapacitated them!" Harry said, shock now giving way to irritation. "There was no need to kill them."

Yahoel frowned again. "They were _threatening_ you," she repeated, and this time it carried a darker undertone, one of fury and wrath, thinly disguised. "They deserved punishment." Her voice echoed, as if a chorus spoke in her wake.

A primal surge of fear washed over Harry, but beyond an instinctive step backwards, he didn't back down. "They didn't deserve _death_."

"I disagree."

"It's not up to you to decide."

"But it is, as I demonstrated. It could have been up to you as well, I believe. You are stronger than they were, are you not?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not how it works. Just being strong doesn't give you the right to decide whether someone weaker than you lives or dies."

Yahoel tilted her head to the side, eyes wide in wonder. "Why not?"

Harry felt the rising urge to scream, and realized that he had to calm himself. He didn't reply, instead closing his eyes and taking a set of deep breaths, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes.

A flick of his wand _Vanished_ the gory remains, as their stench was beginning to get to him.

"Let's just … go inside. We need to pack and leave this place quickly."

"Okay."

Yahoel stood in a corner, clutching her blanket around her as Harry swiftly packed everything, furniture and clothes and items shrinking before stuffing themselves in a small pouch, which he then pocketed.

He offered his hand to Yahoel, which she took.

"This might feel a little weird," he warned her, even as he mentally took down all the charms he'd set around the place. Fat lot of good they'd done.

He Apparated, taking her in a Side-Along, and they reappeared in a rocky beach, the sudden cacophony of waves against rock and the smell of salt water filling his senses. He'd Apparated them to France, in a location far enough removed from anything. It included a well-hidden cave, inside which he'd created another hideout and layered it with protective charms.

His international Apparition hadn't exactly been legal, but then again neither had been his entry into Portugal.

He led Yahoel by the hand through the rocky beach until they came upon a cliff. With a wave of his wand, part of the solid rock gave way, revealing a passageway.

Inside was a house. One quite similar to his own apartment back in London. The familiarity took some of the edge off, at least, and he found himself relaxing already.

He Banished the pouch to a coffee table, pushing his hands behind his back and hearing the satisfying pop.

"Want a cup of tea?"

He turned to look at Yahoel, who looked confused. "I've seen you drink it, but haven't tried it."

"Never mind. Sit anywhere, I'll be right back."

He returned with two steaming mugs and sat on the chair next to her, passing her one. The tea helped.

"Are you still upset?" she asked after a while.

Harry stared down at his mug. "I suppose, yeah," he replied eventually.

"It is in the nature of mortals to die, Harry Potter. It is in their design."

"Naturally, when their time comes. Not like … not like this."

He felt her hand rest over his, warm and soft and comforting.

"Do not be afraid," she said. "Death comes for all mortals. Now or later, what does it matter?"

Harry shook his head once. "I'm not afraid to die. But killing these people gained us nothing."

"That is untrue."

Harry jerked his head up at that, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I remembered something."

"What was it?"

"I remembered my purpose."

She looked … excited. Vibrant.

"Does it have to do with the threat you mentioned?"

She nodded. "Very much so."

"What is this threat?"

"There are those among my siblings that view your world as a … mistake. An abomination. Something to be corrected."

With a furrowed brow, Harry considered this. "Corrected?"

"Destroyed," she clarified. "Annihilated. Pick a word."

"And when you say _the world_?"

"Your realm. The planet. Your race, history and reality. All of it gone, erased."

With mounting dread, Harry began to wonder if he'd had a potions accident somewhere along the way and was hallucinating all this.

"... can they do that?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter. We Children yield power that would drive mortals insane to behold. Power on a scale incomprehensible for your kind."

That sounded farfetched, but having seen what he'd seen from her, he was inclined not to put himself in a position where he'd find out.

"So what do we do?" he asked, instead. "How do we stop them?"

She shook her head. "You can't."

Harry blinked in surprise, before frowning. "Well you can't expect us to just roll over and die, certainly. Don't underestimate humanity. There are a lot of powerful sorcerers that could-"

"That is a fool's hope, Harry Potter. Only one of the Children can stand against another. That is how the Creator willed it, and thus it is."

Harry took a deep breath, thinking things over. Barely a week ago he'd been hunting a petty crook, and now apparently he had the whole world to save. Somehow.

Then his eyes widened. "You," he said. "Is that why you're here? To stop them?"

She gave him a resolute nod. "I will endeavor to protect your world, but the journey here took a lot out of me. I need rest."

Harry let out a breath. "Is there anything I can do?"

She gave him a smile, the first actual, real smile he'd seen from her since he found her on the crater.

"Keep me company."

And so he did.

 **~H~**

Harry had been enjoying a perfectly nice cup of tea when it happened.

He'd felt its like once before, back when Yahoel had spoken to him in her own language. The same oppressive, soft yet heavy feeling overcame him, making him drop his mug and slump on the table, hands pressed to his ears, trying in vain to stop the hymns and the screaming and the sensations.

After an amount of time that he couldn't discern, the feeling stopped. He struggled to focus, to get a hold of himself, but the sensation still echoed inside him, locking his limbs in place.

A source of warmth and strength landed on his shoulder. It took him a while to realize it was a hand.

"Get up, Harry Potter," he heard Yahoel's voice, soothing but urgent. It anchored him, allowing to focus on it over the fading shock. "Or we are all doomed."

He opened watery eyes, focusing on her face. It helped.

"That wasn't you … was it?" he wheezed out. "It … felt different."

"No, it wasn't."

Yahoel's brow furrowed, her expression morphing into one of anger and … fear?

"He comes for me, Harry Potter. Of everyone, I prayed that it wouldn't be _him._ "

"Who comes?"

"The favorite. The spoiled son. He knows I am all that stands in his way, and hopes to snuff me out before I am strong enough to oppose him."

"Is he here? What did he say?"

"Threats, warnings, tempting offers. All lies, even as he looks for me. He will be here, very soon."

"How did he know to speak to us here?"

"Your whole world has heard his words, Harry Potter, though none but I understood."

Harry balked. If he'd reacted like that, how many others across the world had done the same? How many had died because of the shock caused by the angel's voice?

"What do we do?" Harry asked, finally feeling well enough to stand. Yahoel shook her head.

"I cannot fight him. Not yet. I will need to flee, and recover more of my strength."

Harry nodded. "I know some places-"

"You do not understand, Harry Potter. He is almost upon us. Running now will not help."

"But you just said we should."

Yahoel gave him a look. One of sadness, one of apology, and Harry understood.

"You mean to leave me behind. You mean for me to delay him."

"Yes."

A thousand different thoughts passed through Harry's mind. Confusion. A touch of betrayal, easily quashed. Determination. Regret.

Questions.

"How can I distract one of the Children?" he asked. "If what you said is true, I cannot fight him. He will just kill me and come after you."

"There is a way."

"Tell me."

"If you know the name of a Child, you can _call_ it. They will have to come to you, abandon their true form that would kill you just to witness, and talk. For a while, at least. That should hold him in place long enough for me to escape."

 _And then, you will die_ , Harry completed the thought. Whenever the angel had enough of talking to him, whenever whatever laws bound them to these rules allowed him, Harry would die.

But if he didn't do this, _everyone_ would potentially die. It wasn't much of choice, was it?

"What is his name?" Harry asked, and Yahoel told him.

Some part in the back of Harry's head recognized the name, but he wasn't quite sure from where. It didn't matter.

The red-headed angel walked up to him, wrapping her hands and her wings around him in a hug that Harry would never forget.

"Thank you, Harry Potter."

Harry said nothing for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling. Then, he spoke.

"Go," he said, pushing Yahoel off of him gently. "Save us."

She nodded. Then, in a blinding flash of white light that forced Harry to close his eyes, she was gone.

Now alone in his hideout, Harry sat back down and waited. In his thoughts, he was calm. He had his misgivings- of _course_ he did, considering how quickly the whole thing had escalated- but he was not afraid. He'd made his peace with death many years ago.

If he felt anything, it was sadness. Not for him, but for the people he would leave behind. The people of Britain who looked up to him, his coworkers, his friends; Ron and Hermione.

Daphne.

Harry wasn't the kind of person to indulge in regret, not generally. But sitting there, waiting for his death, he wished the last time the two of them had met had been a little more meaningful than the quick morning goodbye they'd shared a before he'd left.

 _Nothing to it, though,_ Harry thought as the hideout became awash in shades of red and orange light. Before he was overcome, Harry spoke the name.

And the angel appeared.

 **~H~**

Samael was everything Harry would have expected upon hearing the word _angel_. Tall, well-built, strong facial features, and with a practically shining curtain of light blond hair. Also completely naked, though there didn't appear to _be_ anything for him to hide.

His wings, once he appeared inside the room in human form, were much different from Yahoel's. Healthy, radiant feathers shone proudly, and his wings were quite larger in size than hers, barely fitting inside the magically expanded room once extended to their full glory.

Yellow and red light swirled everywhere, permeating the room, his power _pulsing_ all around him.

"You called, mortal." Samael spoke, and his voice was sweet velvet to Harry's ears but he _knew_ that there was a hard edge to it, a threatening tone. Duplicity seemed to be prevalent in the nature of these Children.

"Here I am."

"I called, yes."

"You know my name," Samael noted, "but I do not know yours."

"And nor will you, not from my lips."

"How do you have my name?" Samael asked, and while his voice was low, there was a thunderous aftertaste to it, one demanding absolute compliance. This echoing nature was giving Harry a headache.

"I'm sure you can figure it out."

Samael's previously expressionless face changed, a small frown marring the angel's features.

"Indeed. My Sister must have provided it. Though I fail to understand why you would stand before me, now of all times. Do you not see that time is of the essence?"

Harry's frown mirrored Samael's. "That is _exactly_ why I stand before you."

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by the gentle flapping of Samael's wings.

"Your kind fascinates me," he said. "What could the apostate have possibly promised you, what could you possibly stand to gain by hindering me at this juncture? Do you seek Death?"

"No," Harry said, "but I'm not afraid of it."

"You would condemn your realm?"

"Condemn?" Harry asked, brow furrowed. "I would save it."

Samael looked like he was about to say something, but he suddenly stiffened, something Harry might not have caught if he couldn't see basically the entirety of his musculature.

"Someone approaches," Samael said, whatever he'd been about to say forgotten. "I am bound by laws not to harm you, but this does not apply to anyone else."

Harry's head whirled towards the door. With all of Samael's power all but smothering, he'd failed to notice his protective charms going off, signaling someone's arrival.

"I can sense her connection to you," Samael noted, a hint of cruel humor to his tone and smile. "Another unique aspect of your species."

That could only mean one person. Harry's eyes widened. Why was she here? Why now, of all times?

"Don't harm her!" Harry shouted.

"I am not obliged to listen to you, nor inclined to be interrupted once forced to." And with a flick of a finger, part of the heavily enchanted wall -itself part of the cave- broke off and flew towards the door as it was opening inwards.

Harry snapped off an _Arresto Momentum_ , but rather than freeze in mid-air, the rubble was obliterated, instantly turned into naught but dust, the result of the entrant's quick casting.

Daphne Greengrass walked into the room, wand first. Her long, blonde hair was caught in a ponytail, her green robe marred with the dust she just created, and a wrathful expression on her flawless face. Harry's heartbeat quickened.

Daphne absorbed the situation with the same quick reflexes that had saved her from Samael's attack, taking in the floating angel and Harry with his wand in a defensive posture.

"What in all the realms of magic is going on, Harry?" she demanded, seemingly more angry at _Harry_ than anything else. Her wand was locked on Samael, but her glare was directed at him.

"This was supposed to be a quick trip with the blood-traitor, and I have not had a word from you in almost a week. Who the fuck is _this_ clown?"

"Daphne-"

Harry's warning was interrupted by Samael's voice.

"You are interrupting," he said, and motioned his hand towards Daphne. Light surged.

"No!" Harry yelled, and the room came alive with his magic. As Daphne's sudden barrage of colorful spells and curses splashed against Samael, who had drawn one majestic wing to shield himself with, Harry Animated _everything_.

The lamps flew from their position, unloading their fiery contents on the angel. The couches transformed, growing limbs and eyes and teeth, growling as they pounced. Carpets flew, wrapping around the distracted angel even as fire, entirely of Harry's own creation, swirled around him, doing its best to burn off the wings.

Harry was in the process of bringing part of the roof down on Samael when he heard the angel's voice, wrathful and terrible, "I tire of this."

At that instant, the yellow and red light grew blinding in its intensity. No amount of charms or magic helped Harry keep his vision; no amount of shielding with his hands stopped the torrent of light from incapacitating him.

The light grew stronger, more painful. Scalding. When Harry began to scream from the pain, the attack stopped and he dropped to his knees, as if suddenly released from massive pressure. His wand was no longer in his hand.

He couldn't see.

"Daphne," he called out, and made to move, to stumble to his feet, but found that he could not. His limbs were frozen. "Daphne!" he called out again, and received no response.

"She cannot respond to you," he heard Samael's voice, and snapped his head in its direction, though he could not see.

Did he just say …?

"No no no no _no,_ " he sputtered, the words blurring together, "Not Daphne. I'm the one who got in your way. She didn't have anything to do with this. Why _her_? Take me instead. Bring her _back_."

"Calm yourself, mortal. She has not departed your realm. I have merely assured that she will not continue to interrupt."

Harry suddenly realized that he hadn't taken a breath in a while, and he did with a start of surprise. He found himself laughing, tears leaking from his blind eyes.

She was safe. Daphne was alive.

"Now is not the time for you to rejoice," came Samael's voice from in front of him, which cut Harry's mirth, but the light feeling still remained. "You have come at me with intent of violence. No law binds me to be civil with you anymore."

"Kill me if you wish," Harry said. "Just don't harm her. Please."

There was silence for a while, before Harry felt a surprisingly gentle hand take hold of his jaw.

"This would be easier if you could look at me."

And suddenly, Harry could see. Not intermediary seconds of bleariness, no white spots or hazy vision. One second he was blind, and the next he was not.

Samael was down on one knee in front of Harry's crumpled form, staring at him, hand cupping his chin. Up close, the angel looked less like a classical sculpture, and more… real. _Alive._

Off to the side, he could see Daphne. Her hands were attempting to shield her eyes, and she looked immobile. Frozen.

"I do not understand you," Samael said, brow slightly furrowed. "You would beg for her life, but every moment you distract me makes it more likely that she, along with everyone else in your realm, will perish."

"What?" Harry asked, expression morphing in confusion.

"What did you think you were accomplishing by delaying me?"

"Giving Yahoel time. To hide. To recuperate. To fight you."

"And why would you want to give the destroyer of your world better chances against the one sent to stop her?"

Harry stared, Samael's words coming to him as if through a haze over the aches in his body.

"No. No, _you_ are the destroyer. She said you hated us, considered us abominations. Wanted to … to _erase_ our world."

"Is that what the apostate said?" Samael said with a chuckle. "I can see the appeal, considering those were her own feelings. _She_ is the one who wants to destroy your realm, mortal. Not me. I only carry out the Creator's will."

Harry shook his head free from Samael's grip. "No. You're lying."

Samael chuckled. "Think what you will. It does not matter. Unlike my sister, I do not require to convince you of anything. I have no need of you. She told you what you needed to hear to assist her in evading me. But it was a pointless endeavor."

Harry barely heard the last of Samael's sentence, thoughts going a mile a minute, almost making him dizzy.

Was Samael right? Had Yahoel lied to him? Had he really helped the one who wanted to destroy his world? Had been willing to die for her? Samael could be lying. But why would he? Harry knew how easily the Children could kill. Samael didn't need to lie to him.

"So what now?"

"Now I continue my hunt. The misguided one thinks that recuperating gives her a chance against me, but she is mistaken. It might not be without a fight, as I would have preferred, but it is only a matter of time until she is captured. Yahoel cannot defeat me, even at her best. If she thinks so, she is deluded."

Samael got to his feet, and the pressure holding Harry immobile loosened, allowing him to slack his aching limbs. He looked up at the angel.

"Are you afraid of Yahoel?"

"Do not be ridiculous."

"Then why would you have preferred it be without a fight?"

The angel, wings extended, gave him a look of pity.

"Because that would have spared your world. It is unlikely to survive a battle between two of the Children."

Harry's mind ground to a halt, his breath hitched in his throat.

"But-", he said, trying to process all this, "if her crime is wanting us dead, and you kill us in the process of stopping her, doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"Ironic, is it not? Yet Yahoel's crime is not wanting you gone, it is going against the Will, that has not permitted this course of action. She will be brought back and re-educated."

No. No, there must be a way. "You can't just-"

"Silence," Samael commanded, and Harry's words died in his throat from the sudden pulse of power that went through the air. His eyes still pleaded with the angel.

"You should not feel guilty about being duped," Samael noted. "You are but a mortal. Do not hold yourself responsible in your final moments, if your world is lost as consequence of a confrontation that you helped set up."

Samael's head tilted slightly to the side, blonde hair spreading, as if considering something.

"I will give you a gift. Yes, for showing me some interesting things in my first visit to your world, a gift."

His arm extended, his open palm hovering inches away from Harry's forehead.

"I will take the guilt from you."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Wait-"

Blinding light.

 **~H~**

Harry awoke slowly, groggily. A hand was shaking his shoulder, and it took a few seconds for sound to register.

"... _up_ , Potter, or I swear I will hex you."

He opened bleary eyes, his hand blindly groping around, finding his glasses and putting them on. His mug of tea greeted him, now long since cold. He sat up straight; painfully so, as his back protested.

Falling asleep on the chair had been a bad idea, it turned out.

He looked around, remembering that they were in his cave hideout, in France. What were they doing there?

"What is the matter, Potter?"

"Huh?" he asked, turning his gaze from the spotless furniture to his significant other, who was looking down at him with an exasperated expression. "No, nothing. M'fine."

"Get up, then. That magic-forsaken goblin shan't catch itself, and if I have to stay out in the middle of nowhere for _one more_ day looking for it, I swear-"

Harry tuned Daphne out as he yawned, still in the process of getting his bearings. That's right. They were looking for the goblin that had scammed Ron and George. Had been for about a week. Guy was slippery.

For some reason, looking at Daphne made him very relieved. Seeing … confirming that she was safe, made him happy. But she wasn't in any danger, was she?

Still, he couldn't explain this feeling. Daphne must have noticed the way he was looking at her, for she stopped what she was saying, her expression turning slightly worried.

"Harry," she said, tone uncharacteristically subdued, "is everything alright?"

He got up, wrapping her quickly in his arms, wanting to feel her close to him. She let out a yelp of surprise, but didn't stop him. He could tell she was confused, but she reciprocated his hug all the same.

"Are you okay?" she asked him again, voice next to his ear, after a few seconds.

He broke the hug, holding her by the shoulders at arm's length, smiling.

"Everything is fine," he said. Yes, Daphne was safe. That was … important. "You ready to go?"

Daphne gave him a confused look, but nodded.

"Let's go find that goblin, shall we?"

 **~H~**

The crook of a goblin was easily caught that same day, to the point where Harry wondered why it'd taken them a full week up to that point. Still, he didn't linger on that thought, preferring to forget about it and return to his life. For two weeks, life went on.

He woke up with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. His right hand groped for his glasses, his left curled around Daphne's still sleeping form. He took in his surroundings.

No light was on in his apartment, and yet it wasn't dark. He knew it wasn't morning yet, so the light coming in through the windows and balcony door was curious.

Now fully awake, he carefully disentangled himself from his lover and got up, Summoning some of his clothes as he did so. Dressed, he walked over to the balcony, opened the door and stepped outside.

The horizon was lit up. The sky was full of light. Not sunlight. It reminded Harry of a sunset, with its shades of yellow, red and white, but it didn't come from just one direction. All directions he could turn his head towards, flashes of light kept coming.

There was nothing natural about this. The feeling of dread that woke Harry up intensified. He went back inside, hunting for the rest of his clothes.

"Harry?" he heard Daphne's groggy voice from the bed and turned his head to look at her. She had sat up and was rubbing at her eyes, looking at him, appearing confused. "What is wrong?"

"I need to go to the Ministry," Harry replied as he put on his boots. "Something came up."

"Can it not wait?"

"Don't think so, love. Go back to sleep."

Already half-asleep, she followed his advice and lay back down after a few more mumbles.

After a final look at her, he headed out of the bedroom. Some Floo Powder activated the fireplace, bathing it in green flames and he stepped into them, announcing his destination as he did so.

The Ministry was a beehive of activity. As soon as he stepped off the fireplace, he had to watch himself, as it appeared that _everyone_ was up and about, frantically going back and forth. Harry ignored the cacophony, dodging the scores of paper airplanes flying everywhere, and headed straight to the Auror Office.

The chaos there was more controlled, but no less prevalent. As soon as he stepped in, he was surrounded.

"Director, thank god-"

"-makes no _sense_ whatsoever-"

"-reports from the Indonesian Ministry that-"

"-Eastern Nepal with reportedly thousands of-"

"Hold on, boys," Harry cut them off, holding a hand up for silence. "Where's Dawnson?"

"Gathering reports, sir."

"Send him to my office, along with those reports. Open door policy, anything new we have, send it in. Also send me someone to explain to me what we know. Got it? Go."

Everyone scattered, and Harry headed to his office, taking in the conversations around him. He'd thought the lights would have been the talk of the office, but apparently something else was going on. Perhaps they were related?

Dawnson, along with another Auror and one of his secretaries, quickly trooped into his office. Mark Dawnson was a man in his fifties, an experienced Auror that Harry valued highly enough to promote to Head Auror, once he had ascended.

"Harry, I was just about to Floo call you," Mark said.

"What's the situation?" Harry asked as he was presented with a small stack of papers.

"We have no idea. The international community is in disarray."

"What happened?"

Several hours ago, Krakatoa erupted."

Harry's brow furrowed in thought. "Hasn't it been dormant for ages?"

"So we thought, but there's no other explanation. Representatives from the Indonesian and Malaysian Ministries report massive explosions, tidal waves, blinding light everywhere, horrible sounds loud enough to shatter buildings."

"What's the situation over there?"

"Some thousand Muggles are reported dead, some dozen magicals that couldn't get away in time. Small earthquakes persist even now, if their Floo communicator is to be believed."

"But the volcano has calmed?"

"So it seems, but that's not all."

"What else?"

"Barely an hour after that happened, we started receiving calls from the Chinese."

"What about?"

"The Himalayas sir. They … collapsed."

Harry could hear the disbelief in Dawnson's own voice, and instantly shared it. He brought up a hand up to rub at his eyes.

"Say what now?"

"The entire eastern side of Nepal has collapsed, that part of the mountain range is gone, turned to rubble. Earthquakes have killed thousands, if not higher."

"What of the Nepalese Tribal Council?"

"We've received some shadow messages. They spoke of blinding light as the mountain came down. Of the day of judgment."

"What of the shamanic tribes residing on the mountain?"

"No word, sir. We've tried to contact them."

Harry's eyes went over the reports in front of him, most of them being transcripts of the communications that Dawnson had just described.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry wondered aloud. "Is it a natural disaster?"

"The Nepalese reported magic of some sort, sir. Magic in the light. But none they'd ever felt before."

"Magic in the light?"

Dawnson raised his hands with a grimace, a sign that he didn't know, either.

"Is this the doing of people? Is someone causing all this destruction?"

"We don't know."

"What are the Department Heads doing?"

"In their offices, coordinating their people."

"Do we have people on site?"

"Squads of experts from Accidents have been sent with an Auror escort to both sites. We're waiting for their reports," his secretary responded.

"We need-" Harry began, but was interrupted as the light from the artificial window grew intensity, so much so that it activated the safety charm and the window vanished. A deep rumble was heard, and the ground around them shook.

Everyone was instantly on edge, with their wands out.

"What was that?" Dawnson asked.

"Find out," Harry ordered. The other Auror left then, leaving his office. Harry took to pacing around his office. What was that surge of light? What did it mean.

Perhaps a minute later, another secretary all but run into his office, drawing all attention to him. "What is it?"

"Sir, we have a flood of incoming communication from MACUSA. Owls, Floo calls, everything."

"What's happening?"

"It's Panama, sir. Panama is gone."

Harry frowned, and the other secretary gasped. "What do you mean?"

"The Americans are telling us that Panama has been wiped off the map. The entire landmass is gone."

"Anything from the Ministry of Panama?"

"People are still trying to contact them, but we've had no word."

"Nothing? From anyone?"

"None, sir. The Americans ask for help."

"What else did they say? Is this connected to the other occurrences?"

"The same lights sir. White, yellow and red. Blinding light everywhere, thousands of kilometers. I believe you can even see it on the horizon from here."

Harry cursed, immediately walking outside his office, the others following behind him. He stood in front of the door, facing the rest of the Auror Office. Pandemonium reigned, with news of Panama having ignited panicked conversations, of the kind that helped no one. Paper planes flew everywhere and people rushed every which way, distracted from their assigned positions and duties.

Harry brought his fingers to his mouth and whistled. With the help of a nifty charm, his whistles sounded out through the office, grabbing everyone's attention as conversations ceased and heads turned toward him.

"We are the British Ministry of Magic!" Harry said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "In times of crisis like this one, the rest of the world looks to _us_. We are the ones who solve problems, who find solutions. Our world has never faced devastation of this scale. Now, more than ever, we _cannot_ afford to fall apart. Get to work gentlemen, people need help."

A chorus of assent went up from the re-invigorated Ministry workers arounds him as they got back to their frantic work. Harry turned to the secretary.

"You said Panama's landmass gone? What do you mean?"

"Reports vary. Some say sunk, some say burned and blown up, others say vaporized. All agree that where Panama stood, now there is nothing but ocean rushing in."

"How many people in Panama?"

"Perhaps four million muggles. Maybe twenty thousand wizards and witches."

Harry cursed again, his mind incapable of comprehending the scope of the destruction. He got to work, himself, joining the others in communicating with the Ministries around the world. Though not every country had such destruction befall them, most looked to Britain for information and direction. Those had to be dealt with with quickly, for they were distractions and swamped the Office. Relief efforts were planned, the British Ministry coordinating teams from Ministries around the world to be sent to the three disaster areas.

Scouting units had to be sent to Panama, relief teams not far behind, while hundreds of wizards from the international community were beginning search and rescue around the Himalayas and Krakatoa.

Just over an hour of frantic work later, Harry had been mid-Floo call with a representative from the ICW when he was pulled out from his side, something disorienting and sometimes risky.

Once his head stopped spinning, he looked up and saw that it was Dawnson that had pulled him out. He would have normally chewed him out for doing so, but now was not the time.

"What is it?"

"The Italians report in. They say the light has come over the southern part and Sicily, almost blinding in intensity."

Harry mind whirled. "They think a disaster is about to happen?"

"Yes sir. It seems the epicenter of the lightshow is Mount Etna."

Harry felt the same dread in the pit of his stomach. He walked, making his way back to his office, Dawnson close behind.

"How many people in the southern part of Italy, Mark?"

"Can't rightly tell."

"Give me a number."

"Very roughly? Perhaps fifteen million muggles, maybe more. Almost a million wizards."

If Mount Etna truly erupted in force, it would affect more than just Italy, however. The whole of the Mediterranean would be struck by earthquakes and tidal waves. The death toll would rise even higher.

"We need to prevent whatever it is from happening again," Harry said. "We can't allow another disaster on the scale of Panama. Send-"

Harry stopped in his tracks, his words dying in his throat as he nearly blacked out. He fell to his knees, a scream in his mouth, his hands clutching his temples as pain assaulted his senses.

He could barely hear Mark's frantic calls, or feel his arms supporting him, stopping him from hitting the ground.

He remembered. He remembered the meteor, he remembered Yahoel. He remembered Samael and their conversation. He remembered Samael taking his memory away.

Whatever the angel had done to him had faded, Harry thought as they pain slowly went away. What could that mean? Was Samael dead? No, it didn't seem likely. Samael had seemed confident in his victory, and for some reason Harry was inclined to believe him.

Harry's eyes widened as everything suddenly came into focus. Of course! All this destruction, all these deaths; those were the results of the clash between Yahoel and Samael. It had taken him two weeks to find her, it seemed.

With his new memories, the whole situation became even more horrifying, if for no other reason than Harry had played a big part in it coming to be. He had helped Yahoel escape, he had allowed her time to hide and recover her strength, and now Samael had to fight her with Earth as the battleground to take her in.

That wasn't turning out too well for Earth.

Could that be it? Was Samael too focused on his fight to maintain the spell -or whatever it was- that kept Harry's memories suppressed? Maybe.

"... Harry?"

He turned his attention back to his Head Auror, and allowed Mark to help him to his feet.

"Are you okay? What happened?"

"Just a headache," Harry lied. "I'm fine now. Really, you can let go."

Mark did so, still looking at him wearily.

"Send out the orders," Harry told him as they began walking again. "Contact the Italians, have them evacuate as many people as they can. Contact their Muggle governments, have them do the same."

"The Statute-"

" _Damn_ the Statute! Those people are going to die unless we do something. Tell them that Mount Etna is erupting catastrophically, that's enough to get muggle authorities moving."

Mark gave him a weird look. "Isn't it, though?"

For all Dawnson knew, it was just Mount Etna erupting in a horrifying rendition of ancient Santorini, but Harry now knew better. The angels were on the move, and Sicily would be their next point of contact.

"Contact the Spanish, the French, the Greek States, the northern African tribes. If that mountain goes off, it'll affect everyone in the Mediterranean. Have them be ready and evacuate the shorelines."

"Yes sir."

He heard another voice, then.

"Harry Potter?" came Ron's voice from inside his clothes. "Dammit Harry, pick up. Harry!"

Harry fumbled inside his pocket, pulling out the framed piece of mirror. His redheaded friend's frantic face was visible there.

"What, Ron?"

"Harry, I remembered all of a sudden! It's like someone Obliviated me! Remember three weeks ago in Portugal-"

"Yes, Ron, I remember."

"But Harry, the angel-"

"I know. I remembered too."

"What the _hell_ is going on Harry? The hell's this light?"

"I don't have time to talk right now, Ron. I have to go."

"But-"

Harry turned off the mirror with a thought, replacing it in his pocket. It seemed that all of Samael's interventions had come apart.

Once back in his office, Harry thought furiously as people came and went with reports. He now knew the reality of the situation, but what could he do? Could he tell the ICW? Kingsley? Would they believe him? Even if Kingsley did, what could they do about it? He'd seen the power of the angels first-hand, and if these disasters were anything to go about, he'd seen barely a _fraction_. Stopping them wasn't possible in any way he knew.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He'd stopped Samael for a time, hadn't he? Slowed him, perhaps. Could he do something similar?

He'd have to try, Otherwise Samael's words would prove prophetic, and there wouldn't be much of an Earth to _be_ saved at the conclusion of their clash.

Slowly, a plan formed in Harry's mind.

Harry's mirror vibrated again, another voice, one a lot angrier, sounding off it.

"Harry Potter," Daphne was shouting in the mirror, "you pick up this instant."

He retrieved the mirror again, seeing Daphne's disheveled head on the other end. Did she just get out of bed?

"Hey, love."

"Do not _hey love_ me, Potter. I remembered. What the _hell_ is going on? What was that thing? What is all this light?"

"I messed up, Daphne. Badly. People are dead because of me. Thousands. Millions."

Daphne's eyes widened, and her lips pursed into a thin line.

"Do not take that look, Harry. I know that look. What are you planning?"

"Only to fix this."

"Harry, that thing tossed us around like we were nothing. What can you possibly do?"

"I have a plan."

"You are stupid beyond belief. Please tell me you are not going alone."

Harry's silence must have been answer enough.

"Wait right there, I am on my way."

"Can't have that. Sorry, but you're staying right there." Harry's wand, suddenly in his right hand, worked its magic. Back in his house, the protective charms activated, locking the doors, stopping Apparition and deadening the fireplace.

Daphne's expression took on a surprised look, before morphing to something had never seen before. Panic.

"Please, Harry, do not go," she begged him. "There must be some other way. Let us talk. Your Aurors-"

I'm sorry, Daphne," Harry said, and he meant it. He didn't know how this would end and it might well fail, but he had to try. "I love you."

Her eyes widened. "Harry-"

He shut the connection, spelling the mirror against return calls and putting it back in his pocket for the final time.

He stepped outside his office, before finding one of his secretaries.

"Radley!" he called out, drawing the young man's attention.

"Uh, sir?"

"Find me some coordinates. As near to Mount Etna as you can get me."

"Why do you-"

"Just do it."

"Yes sir."

Harry turned his head around, looking for Dawnson. Once he located him, he called out, drawing the older man's attention, who rushed over to him.

"Yes?"

"I received some critical information. I know what's going on, but it's hard to explain. I'm going on site to try and end it-, don't interrupt me, please. In the meantime, you're in charge. Coordinate relief efforts and speak to the foreigners in my stead. Alright? I'll be back as soon as I can."

Mark was silent for a few seconds.

"Harry … is that really the best course of action?"

"It's the best I can think of, Mark."

"I see," the older man said, frowning heavily. "I'll trust your judgment. Give them hell."

Harry smiled. "I'll try. You try to keep the world together until I get back."

"Right."

No goodbyes, no advice, no wishes, no wasted words. Not between two Aurors. Harry turned back to Radley.

"Did you get it?"

"Here, sir. It's for a village near the mountain."

Harry accepted the piece of paper with the scrawled information.

"But sir, the paperwork for international operations-"

"I'm authorizing it, Radley. This is an emergency. Now get back to work."

The man nodded, returning to desk and the coordinating efforts.

With no further words, Harry rushed to the elevator, ignoring the Ministry workers asking for information, mind heavy with what he was about to do.

He Disapparated as soon as he stepped foot in the Atrium, barely noticing the scores of reporters just outside the cordoned area, held back by security.

He appeared in an empty London street. The city was lit as if it were high noon, but it was still supposed to be night. He took deep breaths, slowing his heart rate, gathering his resolve.

"Okay, he muttered after a few seconds. He looked at the paper, assigning the coordinates to memory, then Apparated again.

He arrived with a _pop_ , and instantly had to shield his eyes. The light was stronger here, much stronger. A charm allowed him to breathe through the smog of volcanic ash.

Slowly, and with the help of magic, he could perceive his surroundings.

He was standing on a hill. A small village, apparently empty, was off to his left. To his right lay Mount Etna, towering above him.

Light was everywhere. Red, yellow and white beams swirled, dancing around each other clashing in the sky, covering everything. As far around as Harry could turn his head to see, the battle of angels raged. Fire would rain from the sky here and there amidst flashes of white light, and the wind was strong, forcing him to steady himself on his feet. Deafening booms rang out, sounds that he could not place nor understand.

A whole chunk of Mount Etna was missing, and smoke was coming out of it. That wasn't a good sign.

He couldn't tell if the massive surfaces of light were the angel's true forms as they clashed, or just a manifestation of their power, but it did not matter. He had to get closer. And higher.

He used line of sight for a series of Apparitions, thusly climbing up the side of the mountain. Some minutes later, he'd reached the edge of the giant hole that had been created in the rock. Deep down he could see fire. Magma was churning, rising and falling rapidly. Not a good sign.

All around him the air swirled. This high up, he was almost level with the swirling, exploding lights that were the angels' power. Explosions shook the mountain, debris flying every which way, forcing Harry to put up a shield to protect himself.

He was as close to the fight as he could get, short of flying up into the light.

Harry took a deep breath, cast _Sonorus_ on himself, then yelled out the name as loudly as he could.

For a few seconds nothing happened, and Harry feared that it would not work. Then the explosions stopped, and the white light surged downwards towards Harry, coalescing into a dome around him.

The dome of light was slightly translucent. Harry could see tongues of red and yellow slam against it from the outside, to no apparent effect.

White light seeped in, slowly coalescing into a form he remembered all too well. Bony, membranous wings extended, arms crossed over her chest, Yahoel appeared before him in her human form, naked as the day he found her.

She opened her eyes once fully formed, looking at him as she floated over the hole in the mountain, wings beating steadily. Harry stared back. She appeared neither inquisitive, nor irritated, nor confused. If anything, her distant countenance reminded him of the first time they'd spoken. Had it really been three weeks ago?

Eventually, it was him that broke the heavy silence.

"You are laying waste to my world, Yahoel."

The red-headed angel tilted her head just so.

"The battle for the fate of your realm has only just begun, Harry Potter."

He repressed a shiver at her use of his name, the same feeling of _possibility_ coming over him.

At least she wasn't denying anything or lying to him any longer. That was good. It also left very few things to be said. He and Yahoel had spent time together. He'd considered her a friend, had tried to protect her. She had admitted that he was important to her. Had that been a lie, too? Or was she just referring to his potential usefulness? Had it all gone according to her design?

Did it really matter? Yahoel did as she had done, and Harry was carrying out his plan even at that moment.

"Can you forgive me for using your name against you, as I promised not to?" he asked.

Yahoel blinked, smiling a little.

"Can you forgive me for destroying your world?" she asked in return.

That gave Harry pause, for it seemed that his forgiveness meant something to her. Perhaps the time they'd spent together hadn't been a complete lie. Still, she was asking a lot of him. He was a forgiving person by nature, a believer in second chances, but this? Could he forgive this?

"I don't know," he admitted. "And I hope never to find out. Samael, _now!_ "

Upon his final, shouted word, Yahoel's expression morphed into one of alarm.

The white dome _broke_ , its light disintegrating and, trapped as she was in human form, however temporarily, Yahoel was too slow to react to Samael's red and yellow assault. It encircled her, smothering the glow of her white energy, eventually cocooning her completely and rising in intensity.

Harry had to cover his eyes, using his magic to shield himself from the kinetic backlash as Yahoel struggled to break free from Samael's grip. This kept on for a few seconds; anxious seconds during which Harry could do nothing but hope. Hope that his mad plan to distract Yahoel had worked, and wait.

Eventually, things quieted down. When Harry opened his eyes again, only Samael's red and yellow energy swirled in the sky.

He saw Yahoel's cocoon, now turned into a glowing sphere of fire. Samael floated next to it in his human form, magnificent wings beating steadily, one of his hands flat against the prison.

Harry exhaled deeply, not having noticed that he'd been holding his breath.

"Is it over?" he managed to ask, now that the explosions and the rage of their energies had stopped.

Samael turned his head to look at him, and to Harry he looked perplexed.

"Mortal," he exclaimed. "I am almost surprised to see you here. Yes, your gambit worked. Yahoel is defeated."

Harry felt relief, then, sitting back heavily on a piece of rock and chuckling to himself at the success of his mad plan. That had been close. Too close.

And too late for many.

"You are a fascinating specimen, mortal."

"My name is Harry Potter, Samael."

The angel tipped his head, the first sign of anything approaching respect that Harry had received from him.

"Well met. And well done."

"So what happens now?"

"Now I return Yahoel home, to face the Creator's justice."

"What's going to happen to her?"

"Are you worried for her, Harry Potter? For the one would see your realm erased?"

Harry shook his head. He wasn't sure why he'd asked, either. "Just curious."

"It is up to the Will to decide. I only obey."

"I see."

Samael's wings beat, and his light surged.

"Wait!" Harry called out, feeling that the angel was about to depart. Samael looked at him again.

"Yes?"

"Have you been here before? To Earth? Because I believe I've come across your name in the past."

"I have not, but time is not as linear as you mortals think. Perhaps I will, in my future and your past, or perhaps I have already been."

Yahoel had mentioned that the Children perceived and utilized time differently. Harry accepted this with a nod.

"Farewell, Samael."

The angel looked at him, an expression of interest on his handsome face.

"Farewell, Harry Potter. I can feel the taint of Destiny about you. Perhaps we shall meet again."

Harry grimaced. "I hope not."

Samael chuckled. "You would, wouldn't you?"

Then, in a bright flash red and yellow, Samael vanished, taking Yahoel with him.

Now alone, Harry looked around. Mount Etna was a wreck, massive scars lining its sides. It was still smoking, perhaps awakened by the energies of the angelic fight. Urgent but deliberate action would be needed to deal with it. And it wasn't just Etna. Millions had died, a country was gone. Maps would have to be redrawn, people still needed saving.

But there _were_ people to save. Judgement Day had been delayed. Their world persisted, even if its inhabitants would never find out the scale of the threat they had faced, or the role -for good and ill- Harry had played in it.

 **~H~**


	3. Time

**~H~**

 **The Time-Keeper**

 **~H~**

* * *

Harry Potter's eyes burst open, awareness washing over him unnaturally fast. He moved to sit up in his bed, his right hand _Summoning_ his holly wand even his left was carefully disentangled from his lover.

This feeling washing over him, this soft dread in the pit of his stomach … He'd never felt it before, but he knew what it was.

Someone had infiltrated his house in Diagon Alley, the magical protections told him. The house he'd been sleeping in until a minute ago.

He pulled the white sheets from his body and got to his feet, careful not to awake his wife who, even now, presented the image of beauty, platinum-blonde hair strewn about her as she slept.

He found his glasses, quickly put on his underwear and a pair of pants he found on a chair nearby, and slowly crept towards the bedroom door, wand at the ready. The feeling had not abated; the intruder was still about.

Harry did not open any light. He flattened himself against the door, hoping to catch some noise from the small corridor and the living room beyond it. Nothing.

The door was crafted to be silent, but he sent a nonverbal charm at it to the same effect, just in case, before slowly creeping it open, looking through the crack.

There was light coming from the living room.

Harry crept into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He moved slowly, carefully, all senses extended. He could feel someone in the living room, the distinctive beat of magic about them. A wizard. Whoever it was, it was not one of the precious few Harry had allowed to come and go from his home, else the protective magic would not have wakened him so violently.

He lay flat against the corner of corridor that led to the living room, waiting. A minute passed. Two minutes. Nothing. No sound, no movement. The wizard was waiting. For what, Harry didn't know.

Having had enough of waiting, himself, Harry stepped into the living room's light, wand first, ready to cast if need be.

What he saw surprised him, but not enough to lower his guard. Sitting on the sofa across from him in his living room was a woman. A witch. One very unlike he was used to seeing.

She was wearing a dark kimono – if Harry's memories of his brief visit to the Orient were accurate – and tall, wooden sandals on her feet. Her visible skin – neck and face – were painted a soft white, offset by the shock of red on her lips and the gentle, darker colors around her eyes. Her long dark hair were caught up in a very elaborate bun, held together by two thin, wooden needles criss-crossing each other. In her left hand was a stick. _Not a wand_ , he realized instantly, but instead one meant to hold a cigarette, or something of its kind.

Not something one saw every day in the heart of London.

She was looking right at him with a smile, and started talking as soon as he walked in. Soft, amused words that he didn't understand.

 _Chinese,_ he realized with a start. He knew a bit of the language, had started learning it a long time ago but hadn't really had the time to invest. She was speaking too fast for his basic understanding. Something about time? Something was late?

"-this any better, dear?"

And suddenly, he could understand her perfectly. Harry blinked, surprised by the sudden influx of foreign magic; a Translation charm.

He hadn't even seen her _move_.

"Are you quite alright?" she asked, amused, and Harry realized he pondered for too long and failed to reply.

"Been better," he replied, not taking his eyes off of her or lowering his wand. "Could have still been sleeping, for example. What are you doing here?"

"Straight to the point?" she asked with a brief, tittering laugh. "So unlike your old master. He always like to take his time with such things."

"You knew Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked, fingers clenching tighter around his wand despite himself.

"Perhaps not as well as you did," the woman admitted, "but certainly in a different manner, also."

Something about the way she spoke sounded … weird, to Harry. Artificial.

"That's nice, but it still doesn't explain what you're doing in my house in the middle of the night. How did you even get in?" He had been sure of the protections in his apartment. Had set them up himself.

The woman gave another soft smile. Perhaps a mocking one? Her painted face made it hard to tell.

"It wasn't that hard, you know," she informed him. "Certainly harder than the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, at least. My previous stop."

Harry furrowed his brow. Breaking into the Department was no easy feat, even during the night when no one was around. Moreover, this woman knew him, so she must have known that he was the Head of the Department; and still admitted to having broken in.

Harry tilted his head to the side. "I'm going to arrest you," he said. "We'll figure this out in the morning."

A stunning spell left his wand then, the red streak making a beeline for the Chinese woman who made no move to react. Never a good sign. In the miniscule instance after the spell left his wand and Harry making that observation, he began to cast again, certain that it wouldn't be enough.

Inches before hitting her chest, the mass of red magic veered off, changing course and splashing harmlessly against the wall. Harry didn't understand how it happened, but was already in the process of sending another while eyeing the carpet. With a quick Transfiguration, he could-

His thoughts halted as he was blasted off his feet, holly wand jerking away from his fingers. He flew through the air for a second before crashing against the wall and right into a large portrait, its startled inhabitants rushing off to other frames.

Harry dropped to the floor with a grunt of pain. Whatever had hit him hadn't been particularly painful, but it was disorienting and had blown his breath away.

He was beginning to gather his wits and attempting to move when another spell hit him, locking his limbs in place. From his slumped position, his view was perpetually locked on his motionless hands and awkwardly splayed feet.

He heard soft footsteps approach him, until a pair of socked, sandaled feet stood next to him.

"Now you just wait right here," he heard her say, before she headed into the corridor.

 _Not there_ , Harry wanted to say. _Daphne!,_ he wanted to shout, but his body would not comply. He strained his ears, trying to listen inside.

Surely Daphne must have heard the thud he made when he hit the wall. He hoped she hadn't. If she was asleep, then maybe the woman wouldn't hurt her. Perhaps ...

Harry couldn't think of that. He strained, fighting against the magic holding him captive. The spell was powerful, but he was still conscious, and thus he could begin to counteract it from the inside. It would be slow, though. Too slow.

He heard footsteps again, several minutes later, and the same sandals along with the edge of the kimono entered his field of vision.

"It seems our business is concluded, Mister Potter."

Harry realized then, what bothered him about her speech. It was tightly controlled and deliberate. Like each syllable had to be consciously enunciated. Was she trying to do that to disguise her real voice? Or maybe a medical condition of some kind?

He wondered if she would kill him now. If she had killed Daphne. He worked in magical law enforcement, knew the probable answers to both questions. But he _hoped_. He hoped that perhaps Daphne, at least, would be spared as irrelevant.

He would have begged for her, if his mouth could move.

"It is unfortunate that our first meeting had to go like this, but I'm afraid I had no choice. You have your own duties, yes? And Miss Chang has hers. Do not think too badly of me. You do not know it but we are on the same side, if you care enough to draw a line."

The feet moved out of his field of vision, towards the fireplace, and something dropped on his inert hands. His holly wand. Useless to him, but still a comfort.

The telltale _whoosh_ of Floo travel broke him out of his reverie. The woman … Miss Chang, was gone. And he was still alive.

That was good. If he was spared, chances were Daphne had been, too. But he had to check. He had to _know_ for sure.

It took him the better part of thirty minutes to finally break free of her spell. When he did, his limbs were cramped everywhere, and he was pretty sure the wet line down his back was blood from a head wound. He must have hit the wall harder than he thought.

His shaky fingers curled around his wand. It took a few breaths, but he finally felt steady enough to heal his injuries; first the superficial cuts and scrapes, then the deeper one on his head.

He rose with a groan, body protesting every motion, and used a hand against the wall to stagger towards the bedroom.

There she was, lying motionless on the bed, limbs splayed. Her wand lay forgotten, inches from her outstretched hand. She looked so pale.

"No..." he whispered, eyes widening in horror. She couldn't be …

He rushed over, pain forgotten as he dropped next to her, spells flying from his wand.

Instantly he let out a sigh of relief. She was alive, just petrified like he had been.

" _Finite_ ," he managed to say, shaky wand pointed at her heart.

Daphne drew in a sharp breath, her hand clamping down on his.

"Ha-Harry?"

"It's fine. She's gone."

Her wild eyes focused on him, before slowly relaxing, and her death-grip on his wrist loosened. She relaxed, letting out a painful groan at moving again. Harry lay down next to her.

"I heard a noise from inside," she said. "I thought you were trying to play one of your imbecilic practical jokes."

Harry choked a laugh.

"Then this woman walked in. I-... I saw your feet, slumped on the living room's floor. I tried to … she did something. I do not think I saw her move, but she incapacitated me."

"Yeah."

"Who was that?"

"Called herself Miss Chang."

He felt her stiffen next to him.

"You know her?"

"Heard of her, perhaps," she corrected him. "A rumor, here and there, from our trade partners in the Orient. Fairy tales."

"See what you can find," Harry said, giving her a nod. "I'll head to the Ministry and do the same. Stay in your parents' house until this blows over."

"And you?"

Harry grimaced. He'd never liked Greengrass Manor. "I'll find a place to crash."

At the feel of her two hands taking gentle hold of his left, he look at her, askance.

She led his hand to gently lay it against her stomach, as of yet still flat.

"You would leave me alone at night?" she asked. "Even now?"

Harry let out a heavy breath.

"This is unfair."

She said nothing, only smiled and pressed his hand with hers just a little more.

"Fine," Harry conceded with a groan. "I'll find you at your family's place, alright? But it won't be often. Tell your Dad what happened. I need to figure out how she does it, find her, and get the files back, in that order."

He felt a squeeze on his hand.

"Of course, dear husband."

Harry shook his head at her sarcastic tone, but said nothing.

"Must we not get up now?"

They should. The house was no longer safe. He'd have to pack the important things –figure out if the risk of the Elder wand's enchantments on that one counter getting overcome was too great – and then immediately head to the Ministry. There was a lot of work to be done.

"Yeah, just..." he said, mulling it over. "In a second."

His wife hummed, and Harry squeezed her hand.

~H~

Harry spent the better part of seven hours talking with Minister Kingsley, his Head Auror Jack Dawnson and a few select Department Heads that he trusted. He told them exactly what had happened and what he knew. Together, they brainstormed a course of action.

The first conclusion they reached was an easy one. No one could know. The rest of the Ministry; and by extension the rest of Wizarding Britain, could not be allowed to know that their Head of the DMLE had been overcome in his home, losing precious Ministry files in the process. The public outcry would be enormous. Heads would roll, measures would be demanded and someone to blame would be looked for. As of yet, they had none to offer. ' _A Chinese woman_ ' would hardly go over well with the Chinese ambassador.

They did discuss letting the ambassador know, in hopes of information, but deemed the security risk too great.

Regarding countermeasures, little headway had been made there. Without the case files, which held the pooled evidence and investigation reports, the case of the disappearances was pretty much dead in the water. Months of work was lost, a good chunk of it irreplaceable. To re-create everything from scratch would be a long and arduous process, yielding only parts of what was stolen.

The best options would be to quietly find and apprehend the perpetrator, which was in itself the problem. A forensic team had visited Harry's – now abandoned – apartment, to examine what they could. There was nothing of use to be found regarding the elusive Miss Chang. Whatever it was that she did, it didn't leave a heavy magical sense.

Harry had been afraid that this would be the case, as people of this caliber tended to rely on finesse and efficiency rather than flashiness or heavy uses of force.

He had shared a Pensieve memory of the encounter, in hopes that someone would be able to explain what had happened, but he had expected little. In recent years, he had become the Ministry's go-to expert on practical magic; at least of the sort that was commonly employed in combat, and _he_ had no clue what took place.

In the same vein, none of the people in the know had been able to uncover some hidden trick. To all who had watched, it seemed as if one moment Harry had been standing there, wand aloft, and the next his focus was sent flying and he had been blasted off his feet. All the while, Miss Chang had simply smiled and watched.

It had seemed like a trick of the light when he experienced it, for surely she must have moved and he had simply missed it, but no. The spells that hit him were fairly standard, though they were curiously almost invisible to the naked eye, and came at him directly from Miss Chang's direction. Definitely an _Expelliarmus_ , with a variation of the _Bombarda_ or another kinetic spell to blow him away? In the Pensieve memory examination, no movement was visible from his assailant, and he was quite sure that there had been no other hidden attackers.

His sense for magic had been steadily growing over the last two decades. He had sensed Miss Chang in his living room. He could feel people employing invisibility cloaks or charms to hide themselves.

And there was something in Miss Chang's bearing… A confidence that spoke of absolute certainty in one's self. Of course, an argument could be made that the miraculous trick was how they hid the second perpetrator from his senses rather than how Miss Chang managed what she did, but Harry was fairly sure that was a wrong line of thinking. Still, if he could find nothing as to how Miss Chang cast spells without moving her wand at all, that possibility would also have to be examined.

Harry couldn't stay in his office anymore. Everyone else had left, returning to their own workplaces and work, but he was still left with this issue as a priority. Perhaps some fresh air would do him good.

He grabbed his coat, nodded at his secretary and the few paper-pushers around the office that turned to look at him, then headed to the elevator. From there to the Atrium and from there; after a few polite nods and shaken hands, he Disapparated, coming back into existence in a dark alley nearby with a soft _pop_. To his left, he could see a street where the alley ended, with cars and passersby going about their business without sparing the exit a single look.

He leaned against the building, letting out a long-suffering sigh and rubbing at the his right eye under his glasses.

Not even a day had passed, and his nerves were already frayed. The phrase ' _too close to home'_ was ironic to a disgusting degree here. He had been assaulted and overcome in his home. With _Daphne_ in there. Anything could have happened.

He'd developed a healthy respect for his combat prowess as the years and the achievements and the experience piled up; to have it all amount to nothing was a very rude shake-up. How could he have let this happen?

His thoughts were interrupted by something. Movement to his left, on the main street. One of the people walking by … seemed familiar.

Harry pushed himself off the wall, hurried to the entrance of the alley and looked in the direction the person had went. He could just make him out, amid the muggles.

He knew that coat.

He followed the man, trying to catch up, passing between the busy afternoon London crowd as quick as he could, excusing himself left and right.

His pursuit must have been noticed because, before he could get close enough, the man bolted, all but jumping into another small alley, removing himself from Harry's vision.

"Wait!" Harry shouted instinctively, pulling his wand out and squeezing between a pair of muggles before following the man in the alley; barely wide enough for one adult man. He caught the edges of the man's coat as he was turning a corner, and started running.

Once Harry cleared the corner he came to a sudden halt; the man had stopped a few paces onward and now stood still, back to him.

Harry cursed himself inwardly, eyes flitting everywhere, looking for potential ambushers. _Never rush after a target that has noticed you_. It was one of the first and most useful pieces of advice given at the Academy. Hell, he used to give it himself, and now he'd fallen for that simple mistake.

He wasn't thinking clearly, that day in general and especially after seeing that coat, and that hair on the man.

He knew that coat and that hair.

The man turned, and Harry blinked. Once, twice.

"Hello," he greeted himself.

Harry Potter grinned back at him. "Hello, Harry."

"Is this Polyjuice?" Despite the level tone he used, Harry's hand had not stopped pointing his wand straight at, well, his own heart.

Other-Harry smiled again. "I'm going to put my hands in my pockets and pull out two items, one of which will be our wand, held at the wrong end. Is that fine?"

Harry nodded, watching his doppelganger's slow movements critically.

The item in Other-Harry's right hand was indeed a wand, held at the point. Harry would recognize his wand everywhere and if nothing else, this was a perfect replica. Held casually in his left hand was a golden, shiny hourglass.

"I see," Harry said. "When did I get that?"

"A young Unspeakable will stumble into you as you're leaving the Time Room, sometime soon. You will help her to her feet and wave as she leaves, and then you'll look down and notice that she dropped a Time Turner and some research papers."

"Do I report her?"

"No, but you will conveniently find her a few minutes later to give her the papers she forgot, putting this here Time Turner in her pocket as you give her a pat on the back," Other-Harry said with a smile as he tossed the hourglass a few centimeters in the air, catching it again effortlessly.

Harry furrowed his brow. "Do I use it immediately?"

A shake of his head. "No. You'll know when it's time."

"Then, the part where we return it …?"

"Hasn't happened yet. I'll take care of it. As will you, in time."

"Then how do you know that's what is supposed to happen?"

Other-Harry grinned. "I asked myself the same question."

Harry understood.

"Alright. But if it's not soon, what will you do until then?"

There could only be one Harry Potter running around publicly and going to work, after all. Harry was astonished that he'd traveled back what appeared to be days. Certainly a lot more than a few hours.

Other-Harry smiled, but it was a small, wistful thing.

"There's someone I have to find," he said.

Harry didn't understand, but he nodded nonetheless. He'd know, soon. "Anything else?"

Another shake of the head. "That's all we tell ourselves."

"Good luck."

With a last nod, Harry left his future self behind, walking towards the exit of the alley, thinking back on the bewildering experience of talking to himself for the first time.

Meeting himself had been … bizarre, to say the least. He'd time-traveled a couple times in the past, but always made sure never to actually meet or talk to himself. Seeing himself interact from the outside was weird, not to mention the idea that there were two of him running around at any given moment.

Daphne should never hear of this, he resolved.

With a shake of his head he cleared his thoughts, his brow creasing as something else occured to him. He'd received a clue, perhaps unwittingly. The Department of Mysteries. Apparently, he was about to spend a lot of time there. Why, though? He rarely if at all visited that department, only entering the Unspeakables' haunts because of his …

Of his _cases_!

He'd soon go to the Department of Mysteries, specifically the Time Room, because of a case. More probably than not, it'd have something to do with Miss Chang and the stolen files. Was time travel involved somehow?

After making his way to a secluded spot, Harry Apparated back to the Ministry Atrium, hurrying as much as he could without making a scene on his way to the elevator.

When the door clicked open and he rushed in, he bumped against one of his three favorite people in the world, scattering a bunch of files she'd been holding in her hands.

" _Oof!_ " Hermione exclaimed upon finding herself on her backside, courtesy of a collision with Harry's chest.

"Sorry," Harry said as he rushed to help her, first to her feet and then to gather her scattered papers.

"Department of Mysteries," Harry spoke to the elevator as he was getting back to his feet, which repeated the called floor with its customary dry intonation.

"Harry!" the Head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures said from next to him. "I've been looking everywhere for you! I found something to help you."

Harry was thankful it was just them in this particular elevator. "Yes, Hermione?"

"I was worried about what you said earlier so I talked to Gibbons and together we went through some old Auror archives, looking for the name Chang to see if anything came up," she replied hurriedly, passing several papers to the bottom of the stack and shaking her head. "That was futile. Too many hits, too many results for our search to come up with anything worthwhile. Chang is a common name, and there are plenty of families in London, never mind all the countries where British Aurors have participated in oper-"

"Hermione, get to the point."

"The point? Oh, right. Well, we were just pulling our hair at how useless the name was, convinced it must be fake, when I had a thought-"

"Of course you did."

She smacked him on the shoulder with the file stack, which actually hurt a bit.

"So I had a _thought_. The woman introduced herself as Miss Chang, right? _Miss_ Chang."

"You think the term is important?"

"It has to be, right? Or the phrase becomes awkward. So we scanned the Archive again, this time searching for _Miss Chang_ specifically. A lot fewer results, though still many to sort through. It took some doing, by which I mean-"

"Hermione."

"Err, right. Well, the term Miss Chang has been used to refer to a person connected to a case before. More than once, actually, and not in particular connection to any Chang families. The interesting pattern Gibbons discovered was that a lot such mentions had been removed from the archive, the cases changing jurisdiction and ending up in-"

" _Level 9, Department of Mysteries._ "

Harry could have laughed. The automatic voice of the elevator could not have had better timing.

Harry grinned at his friend as the doors opened. She tried to pull some hair behind her ear, a nervous habit from before she started tying it.

"But … how did you know ..."

"Come, Hermione. You're brilliant, and I'm going to need your help," Harry said, taking her by the arm and leading them further in.

"Oy, watch it, Mister!"

Once there, they made their way through the empty hallway and into the Door Room. It looked as disorienting as ever.

"Potter," a voice greeted him. Harry turned to his left and finally noticed the figure standing against the wall, black cloak fading against the dark walls of the room. The figure was covering their face with a hood.

"Really, Dench? Perpetuating the stereotype even in the workplace?"

"What do you want, Potter?" she asked, voice muffled and arms crossed over her chest.

"Is that all you have to say to me? We haven't seen each other since, what, my wedding?"

"Tell me what you require or I will have you thrown out."

Harry sighed. "So sociable … fine. We need the Time Room, and the assistance of whoever you have working there."

The Head Unspeakable said nothing for a few minutes, processing his request.

"What do you want with it?"

"You'd know that if you'd come to the meeting earlier. Did the paper plane not reach you?"

The Head of the Department of Mysteries ignored him. "Why should I give you unrestricted access to the Time Room? You know some of what's held there."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like I'll steal anything. Come on, Anne. I'll buy you a drink later."

The Head Unspeakable did not look convinced. After a few seconds of silent staring, she turned to Hermione. "You'll be responsible for him?"

"Hey!"

"I will."

"Fine, then. Find Unspeakable Turner. She'll assist you. No drinks."

One of the doors to Harry's right lit up in a pale blue light, before opening. Dull, golden light came from the entrance.

"Thanks, Dench."

"Leave immediately after your research is finished. Don't come again."

"It was fun seeing you too." Harry waved over his shoulder as they entered, the door closing behind them with a thud.

Harry had visited the Time Room a couple times before, usually just passing through, and had never quite gotten used to the sparkling light filling this chamber, emitted from the huge crystal bell jar at its far end. Bookcases lined all the walls, filled as much with books as with clocks. Clocks of all kinds and sizes, from pocket watches to large, imposing grandfather clocks, some of them reaching all the way to the ceiling. The constant ticking from all the clocks filled the silence. A large number of Time Turners lay within a glass case, spanning almost the entire length of the room.

The restored Time Room and its stock of Time Turners was the result of decades of restorative efforts after their ill-advised jaunt through the Department on Harry and Hermione's fifth year. An event that Dench rarely passed on mentioning.

An Unspeakable rose to her feet from a small work desk in a corner, pushing a pair of glasses higher up her nose.

"Miss Turner, was it?" Harry said with a smile as he moved closer, offering his hand for a shake.

"Director, Madam Weasley, pleasure to meet you," she greeted them both with a handshake. "What can I help you with?" Harry was glad she wasn't one of the Unspeakables who still gave him the stink-eye. He'd apologized for ruining their workspace!

Hermione took over here, all but pushing Harry to the side as she explained the situation, what they needed, and some of her theories. For a while, Harry just watched the two focused women converse. It wasn't often he found someone capable of keeping up with Hermione when she was researching something.

He was jolted to movement when they started bringing books down from the shelves.

"Don't just stand there," Hermione huffed irritably. "Be useful."

"Right," Harry replied with a shake of his head, before getting to work.

Unfortunately, progress was slow. The Time Room itself appeared relatively small, but all the material, books and files held in its shelves, if laid out in proper proportion, would require a good chunk of the Hogwarts library. Hermione and Turner went through file after file, passing anything that seemed even remotely relevant over to Harry, who was more familiar with the case and what to look for.

It took them the better part of a week to construct a spherical view of what everything meant. The cases that Hermione had found that had been all but confiscated by the Department of Mysteries all pertained crimes relating to the abuse of time, in various ways.

Most commonly, that meant the abuse of time turners, or illegal creation of sands of time. In all the relevant cases, a Chinese woman, sometimes identified by moniker as Miss Chang, was involved. Sometimes, the perpetrators would be found dead and Miss Chang would be implicated in their murder. Other times, she would interfere with various law enforcement agencies of whatever country, leaving the case to remain presumably unsolved. Considering that all these instances were related to the abuse of the time continuum somehow, it was no wonder the Department had taken jurisdiction of the cases and left them in the Time Room.

From those facts alone, and after long discussions with Dawnson regarding their findings, Harry was able to deduce several things.

The biggest conclusion they got to was that Miss Chang, rather than a single person, seemed to be an organization. A group of some sort. Reports with someone bearing the moniker dated as far back as the Ministry's creation, the point where written records began being kept in any organized manner. Unless Miss Chang was very, very well acquainted with Nicholas Flamel, there had to be more than one.

The fact that it was a group led to the immediate assumption of a goal of some sort: a reason for the group's existence. From what they knew of Miss Chang's operations, them being equally antagonistic towards law enforcement as they were towards other criminals, the logical assumption would be that they were hoarding Time-related artefacts and knowledge, viciously attacking anyone who might show themselves as being owners of such without the protection of entities such as official Ministries.

From what they could tell, Miss Chang had never attacked a Ministry directly before, at least not the British one, beyond incapacitating some Aurors at crime scenes a number of times, the last instance of which occurred over forty years ago. That Harry had been attacked in his home as he had meant that they had gotten bolder or had gotten closer to the achievement of their goal. There was also the possibility that something had made them desperate enough to throw caution to the wind.

As he was leaving on the fifth day of their project, Harry bumped against a young Unspeakable trying to enter the Time Room as he left it, carrying a large box which spilled over as soon as she dropped it in her surprise. Dutifully, Harry pulled her to her feet, helped her gather the things from the box and waved at her as she left.

He saw the glint of the Time Turner in a small corner, forgotten there along with a few scattered papers that had been missed. He pocketed the small hourglass, leaving the papers there for himself to pick up and return. As he was leaving the Department, he thought he saw the edges of a familiar coat turn a corner towards the Door Room.

After about two weeks, follow three straight days of no results, Harry decided that they'd found as much as they could, and further search would be a waste of resources. He had enough to work with. Hermione disagreed, and decided to continue individually, but Harry did not return to the Time Room, or the Department of Mysteries.

He had other avenues to explore.

Mis Chang's fascination with Time Travel had given him a lot of food for thought over the course of the last few weeks. How they would just pop up whenever unsanctioned or foolhardy time travel occurred.

He spent a full day in his office, practically dead to the world as he reviewed the memory of his attack again and again, trying to see if his new insight revealed anything new.

Several hours in, he'd begun to think that he was fooling himself into seeing what he wanted to see. He'd spelled the Pensieve to work slower, showing him the memory five times slower than normal speed. When he did that, something interesting happened.

At the point where he was blasted off his feet, just an instance before that, there was the briefest of blurs from Miss Chang. A trick of the light, perhaps, with how quickly it disappeared. Even seeing the memory again did not assure Harry that it wasn't just his idea.

He left the Pensieve, and cast more spells. This time, he lowered the viewing speed to twenty times slower than normal, the slowest he could make it without endangering the Pensieve, and cast the _Supersensory_ charm on himself, along with a few other such charms. When combined, they would give him increased perception, quicker reflexes, and far exceed the normal human eye's capability to perceive speed, for a limited time.

Holding so many sense-affecting spells at the same time was not only taxing on his concentration, but also _dangerous_. The human mind was not supposed to operate under such conditions: it was not meant to accept such a high degree of sensory input so quickly. Beyond the killer headache he'd be sure to have after this, prolonged use of such a combination of spells could lead to permanent brain damage.

Still, for the minute he'd need to keep them active, he should be fine.

Watching the memory again under these conditions was … enlightening. He saw, aided by the slowing of the Pensieve and his own increased perception, _movement_ , where before there was none. Miss Chang had not simply sat there and cast magic with her mind. Her hand had moved. It was almost too quick to see, even with all this assistance, but he could clearly make out her hand as it blurred, as well as the glint of her wand before she unleashed the trio of spells his way.

He now knew what Miss Chang had done, but was no closer to understanding how she did it. He spent the next three days in deep contemplation, coming up with theories that might seem plausible if he squinted.

While he worked on this case for these three weeks, Dawnson had been responsible for the Auror Office's day to day operations, while a slew of secretaries took care of most of the administrative work that didn't require Harry's direct input. It wasn't rare for him to be personally working on specific cases, and Harry had made sure to put competent people in key positions so that the Ministry would operate optimally even while he was busy in this way.

He'd have spent the entirety of those days in the office if left to his own devices, but the irate Mrs Potter had had other ideas. Every evening, he got a call on his charmed mirror by his wife, all but demanding he return in time to have dinner with her and her family.

Rather than refuse and risk his wife's wrath, Harry opted to grab his files and continue work from home, after dinner.

Normally, extended meetings with the Greengrass family would tend to test his patience, but such was not the case during this period. He'd Floo in exhausted, having worked from early in the morning, and have little mood for conversation or appearances. Daphne's parents and sister, seeing him this sullen, would respect his state and leave him to eat and retire in peace.

At night he would lay down with his wife and relax, hearing her talk about her day, and fielding her irritated jabs at how absent he'd been lately. With that comforting chattering going on, his eyes would droop and he would fall asleep with her in his arms, only to wake up early the next morning and start the whole process again.

It had been at least two years since he'd been so focused with work. He never enjoyed it when things turned so hectic, but this time was different. This time was personal. Miss Chang had invaded his home, threatened himself and his wife. Harry would not rest or relax while that danger still existed.

So, he worked. He deliberated, he researched, and he planned. Over the course of days, he'd worked up a theory as to how Miss Chang managed to move as she did, and set about researching countermeasures. Any future confrontation with her would depend on it. He meticulously wrote every part of the process down.

That was also a crucial part of his plan.

 **~H~**

"I think you have upset grandmother Mariana."

Harry didn't turn towards the voice. Sweat was pouring down his brow and shoulders, unhindered due to his shirtless state. His arms were extended forward, his right holding his wand. Slowly, with steady but heavy breaths, he let the magic fade and finally his arms dropped, feeling far heavier than they should.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat, and _Summoned_ a towel from a nearby chair, using it to clean his brow and neck. Finally, he turned to look at the speaker.

His wife was standing a few feet away, dressed in a fluffy indoors coat, a smirk on her gorgeous face. Harry followed her line of sight to the stack of portraits that he'd removed and placed in a corner. He shrugged.

"They were getting in my way."

"I think grandmother is less upset at being mishandled than she is at missing seeing you shirtless."

Harry snorted, slowly stepping closer to her. They could hear the muffled, indignant denials of the portrait, stuck somewhere in the middle of the pile.

Not giving her time to react, Harry jerked his wand and Daphne was suddenly propelled forward, straight into his open arms which closed around her. She fought against him, resisting his hug as he laughed.

"Let go of me, you oaf!" she protested. "You stink!"

"Is that any way to talk to me? I missed you, you know."

"And whose fault is that? Let go, or I swear to god-"

Harry laughed again, but did let her go. He watched in amusement as she took a few steps back, wrinkling her nose, using her wand to _Vanish_ all traces of sweat from both of their bodies.

"What's up?" he asked after she was done.

"You missed dinner," she replied critically. Harry rubbed the back of his head.

"Sorry. Suppose I was too engrossed. Did you save me some?"

Daphne scoffed, turning her head away and crossing her arms. "Why should I care if you eat when you do not?"

"Is it in the kitchen or the dining room?"

"It is on a counter in the kitchen, but that does not excuse you."

Harry laughed again, _Summoning_ the rest of his clothes from where he'd dropped them. "Are you going to bed already?"

"Indeed. Eat, _bathe_ , and only then may you join me."

"Of course, love," he replied, stealing a quick kiss despite his wife's grunt of mock-disapproval, and leaving the drawing room.

Less than an hour later, he joined Daphne in her childhood room, more than large enough for both of them. Even though she had not used expansion charms as liberally as her sister, whose room resembled an underground cavern in size, it was still as big as his entire apartment. He found Daphne already in bed and reading a book. He undressed quickly, slipping under the covers beside her.

He let out a sigh of contentment, left hand snaking around his wife's shoulder and drawing her closer. She obliged, putting the book side and leaning on his shoulder. They lay in comfortable silence for a while.

"Father wants his drawing room back, you know," she informed him a few minutes later.

Harry let out a snort of amusement. "Does he now?"

"It has been almost two weeks since you ceased your work in the Ministry and took it over. He is anxious to return it to its proper state."

"Weird, he hasn't told me anything."

This time, it was Daphne who found something amusing. "You have not seen your face these last few weeks, otherwise you would understand why he did not. You have been very … intent, lately. Short. Abrasive."

Harry pursed his lips, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses with his free hand.

"Suppose you're right. Sorry, it's just …"

"You need to do this."

"Yeah."

He felt her delicate fingers take hold of his hand. "Why?" she asked.

Harry took a minute, before finally deciding on a reply.

"I was … complacent," he admitted. "Arrogant. It put us all at risk. Never again."

"You are being ridiculous."

Harry chuckled. "Maybe."

"You seem different today."

"Different how?"

Daphne trailed perfectly manicured fingers over his chest.

"Less intense. Happier."

Oh. Harry supposed it made sense. "I finally feel like I've got a good handle on it," he admitted. "I never thought holding so many charms and enchantments at the same time would be possible."

"But you did it."

Harry nodded, the move bringing his chin to the top of her head. "Yeah."

"You plan to confront her soon, then?"

"I'll go tomorrow."

There was a long silence.

"You think it will be enough to beat her?"

Harry considered this. It was a question he'd often ask himself, lately. "Perhaps not," he admitted. "But then again, that's not the point. I'm not going to try to bring her in, at least not tomorrow. First I want to talk to her. Them. Get some answers."

He felt, more than saw, his wife's frown. "Is that prudent?"

"I think it is."

"How many are you taking with you?"

Harry shook his head. "It's just me. All goes as planned, there won't be a fight at all."

Daphne froze, half-rising off his shoulder, supporting herself on her elbow to look straight at him with a frown.

"You must be joking."

"I'd never be able to get a full squad of Aurors into China legally. Even going by myself took this long to be approved. They don't trust our Ministry."

His wife considered this, her beautiful lips pressed into a thin line. Eventually she let out an irritated groan, before letting herself rest against his shoulder again.

"What time are we leaving, then?"

"We?"

"I have not let you do something this stupid alone in over seven years. I am not about to start now."

Harry's grip around her shoulders tightened, as did his grip on her hand.

"You're not going anywhere."

"But-"

"No. No buts, no negotiations, no arguments," Harry cut her off, voice much harsher than he'd meant to. He guided their clasped hands to Daphne's belly. "Now, of all times, I won't let you so much as get out of the house. I'm going to stun you and tie you up if you as much as _think_ about following me. Is that clear?"

"That is unfair. You also have a duty to-"

"Is that clear, Daphne?"

She did not reply, and the silence stretched. He felt her shoulders quiver as she worked through what he said.

"Besides," he continued, softening his voice as much as he could, "I told you I'm only going to negotiate. Nothing will happen."

"Then why have you spent the last two weeks practicing how to fight her?"

Harry did not reply for a long while. "Just in case," he allowed finally.

Daphne did not offer a response, but he could feel her dark mood. This was one of the cases where she knew that she had nothing nice to say, so chose to say nothing, instead. Harry chuckled, admiring her restraint, and let the conversation end there.

 **~H~**

"... just a few kilometers west from Xi'an. Xi'an has over seven million inhabitants, but Xianyang has barely a million. According to our sources, no wizards live nearby. Not one in the entire prefecture."

Harry shook his head at his Head Auror, hunched over his desk at the Director's Office over a pile of papers.

"I'm not surprised," Harry said. "With the Emperor's tomb and the Terracotta Army so close."

Dawnson looked up at him, giving him a cautious glance. "You think Chang had something to do with … _that_?"

Harry grimaced. Nobody liked to speak about the cursed army.

"We know her group's been around for at least that long," he answered, before shaking his head, "but there's nothing beyond speculation, even from our people in China. We need to focus on the situation at hand."

"Well, at the very least we know that-"

Dawnson stopped talking when the cough was heard from the door. Both men turned their heads to see it ajar, a nervous face peeking in.

"Yes, Radley?"

"Um, excuse me sir, but there are two gentlemen here to see you."

Harry sighed. Radley could have transferred out of his duties as his secretary years ago, but the younger man never did.

"This is sort of important. Have them set up an appointment."

He was beginning to look down when his secretary spoke up again.

"With all due respect, sir, you might want to talk to them. It's William Weasley and Neville Longbottom. They … they mentioned your wife, sir."

The sheer mention of Daphne was enough to instill a healthy fear to anyone in the Auror Office. Perhaps not without justification, but Harry rather thought both sides were being overly dramatic.

"Fine," he said. "Let them in and let's see what what they want."

Mark looked annoyed. "Harry, the operation is set to begin in just-"

"This'll only take a minute."

With a huff, Dawnson let it go, returning his attention to the desk and their plans.

Not long after, the door opened to admit Neville and Bill, who thanked Harry's assistant before he closed the door.

"Hey guys," he greeted them, receiving smiles in return. They looked good. Neville's scars contrasted wildly with his pleasant smile, giving him a more sinister look, matching Bill's own nicely. As for the eldest Weasley brother, though he hadn't had long hair in over a decade, he still managed to maintain the same confident bearing of his youth. "What are you doing here?"

"Daphne called," Neville explained. "I assigned some classes to my assistant, and here I am."

Harry frowned. "Why _are_ you here?"

It was Bill who answered. "We're not quite sure. She didn't explained when she Floo'd Shell Cottage. Only mentioned that you're about to do something moronic and that we're to come with you under pain of death."

"I see." So that's what Daphne was angling for. "Give me a second, would you?" he asked as he fished in his pockets for the charmed mirror, receiving nods. He walked to a corner of the office, then spoke her name into the mirror.

A few seconds later, his wife's scowling, devastatingly attractive face appeared.

"What?" she said.

"Why'd you bother Neville and Bill? You know I can't take them with me."

"You most certainly can," she argued hotly. "You will either take them with you, or permit _me_ to come. Under no circumstances are you going alone."

Harry let out a sigh. "Daphne-"

"I am serious, Harry," she cut him off. "I will not budge on this matter. If you want to see either of us again, you will comply."

Harry closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax and not instantly lash out at her. He hated being threatened, especially like this and especially by her, but he knew why she did it. He understood that she was only worried about his safety, and expressed it the only way she knew how. He let out a breath, steadying himself, and opened his eyes again.

"Even if I wanted to, I can't."

"Actually ..."

Harry turned his head towards Dawnson with a frown. It was common courtesy not to interrupt someone in the middle of a personal call. The man himself looked a little sheepish, but spoke nonetheless.

"I think you could. They're not affiliated with the Ministry, and are well known as being your close friends. It'd sell the tourist angle, at least."

"See, Harry?" Daphne said instantly, grasping at Dawnson's words and forcing his attention back to her.

"Why them?" Harry asked, trying to buy a few seconds to think. He heard his wife scoff.

"They are the least imbecilic in your immediate circle of friends that I could call. At least of those that could be useful in a hostile environment."

"Psst," he heard Bill whisper to Neville. "I think that was a compliment."

"Yeah?"

Harry shook his head. He searched for words to let her down gently, but her expression stopped him. Determined. Fierce. _Angry_. Harry knew well how highly she valued her word. If he outright turned her down, she'd make good on her threat.

"I'll explain the situation to them and give them the option of coming," he allowed at last. "I won't force them, and I don't want you upset or demanding anything if they refuse. Alright?"

"That is acceptable. They shall not refuse if they know what is good for them."

"Alright," Harry said, nodding at her. "I love y-"

"Stay alive."

She cut him off briskly, before shutting the mirror connection. Harry let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his head at the embarrassing display.

"I think I made her mad."

The three other men in the room, two of them married, laughed.

"I know that feeling," Bill told him. "She'll get over it."

"How come she convinced you, anyway?" Harry asked him. "Don't you have some half-dozen children to occupy you?"

"Three, I'll have you know. Fleur's looking after them. Daphne can be … persuasive."

"What's going on, Harry?" Neville asked, tone gaining some degree of seriousness.

For the next half-hour, Harry and Mark explained the situation to them, as detailed as time allowed and without revealing anything confidential. All the essential information was shared.

"Harry, it's almost time." Dawnson told him at some point after glancing at a clock. Harry nodded.

"I'll be going then. You take care of the Office until I get back, okay?"

The two men clasped hands.

"You be careful out there. I wish you'd stop doing this."

Harry grinned. "Wouldn't be me if I did."

Dawnson let out a sigh. "I suppose not."

Harry turned to Neville and Bill. "You two coming?"

Both nodded. "Can't let you have all the fun."

He jerked his head towards the door. "Come on then. We have a Portkey to catch. We'll talk on the way."

 **~H~**

Thankfully, the Portkey to Beijing, in the form of a pen, was large enough for all three to hold. The company of Neville and Bill had been communicated before them, but thankfully the Chinese didn't seem to care about them.

All these weeks that Harry spent researching, thinking and experimenting with magic, Dawnson had been hard at work pushing the red tape necessary for Harry to visit the Qing Empire's land. Half of it was spent to wiggle out of being saddled with any number of Chinese escorts. For his own security, supposedly. It wasn't easy, or so Harry was told, but Kingsley eventually confirmed that the Emperor's administration had allowed Harry to travel unsupervised, though he was in no way exempt from the Empire's laws.

That was fine.

Of course, it took a few hours before the three of them could leave Beijing. There were hands to shake, smiles to give, courtesies to follow. Harry politely refused another offer of a guide and a protective detail, citing that he felt perfectly safe and couldn't possibly impose on the good Emperor Kangxi's hospitality and generosity. That got him some frowns, but Kingsley had already seen this fight through, and they let them go without further questions.

Harry Side Alonged Neville and Bill to a few locations, meant mostly to hide their trail to any inquisitive minds. The Chinese suspected that he had a reason for visiting beyond tourism, but they didn't have to know what it was.

They played the role of tourists for the rest of the day, just in case, grabbing dinner and drinks in Shanghai before spending the night in a nice hotel. The next day, after nearly an hour spent properly applying a plethora of charm variations Harry himself had designed, he Apparated everyone to their destination.

Xianyang.

"This place is giving me the creeps," Neville said, and Harry could hear the caution on his tone.

"It's a nice enough area," he said with a shrug, eyes going over the suburban area they were walking through. He had to fight to keep his eyes going at a carefully calculated normal place. Even after all the practice he'd gone through, talking and walking without giving anything away wasn't easy.

There was no time for Neville and Bill to practice with the set of charms, however, and using them without familiarity would not only hinder them, but do so in a rather lethal fashion. Harry had to trust that he wasn't leading them to their deaths.

"That's not what I mean. Just thinking that we're this close to the Army makes me uneasy. Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"We're in the right place," Harry confirmed.

Bill chose that moment to interject. "Speaking of the Terracotta Army, do you think we could make a little detour to the mausoleum, Harry?"

He heard Neville's neck let out a pop, so quickly did it swivel to face the Weasley. "You want to go _closer_? Are you insane?"

"I'm a curse-breaker," Bill corrected with a grin. "I live for this."

"Well you won't be living for long if you go," Neville grumbled.

"Come on!" Bill insisted. "The Empire doesn't even guard it. We could just stroll in!"

Harry shook his head. "The Empire might not guard the tomb, but make no mistake. The tomb is guarded." The Ministry's Chinese contacts had said that much at least, in fearful whispers and ominous letters.

Bill let out a strangled noise from deep in his throat. "You can't tell me that kinda thing and expect me to not want to go!"

"Fleur would never forgive me if I let you. Besides, we came here for a reason. There's a good chance it'll get you killed, if that's what gets you going."

Bill's long-suffering huff could only be for dramatic effect. "You are the worst fun person I know."

"We're here," Harry said a few minutes later, coming to a halt. They'd left the borders of the town proper.

Neville frowned. "Are you sure? This is it?"

"What do you see?" Harry asked.

"An old warehouse?"

Harry smiled. "Look again. Really look."

For a few seconds silence reigned. Then, twin gasps of surprise.

In the place of an old warehouse, there now stood a massive, ancient estate. Elaborate wooden architecture, delicate, majestic gardens, ponds with colorful fish, the entire deal.

Their awe did not last long, movement drawing their attention. Along the winding cobble path, leading through the garden and the pods and ending at the beautiful gate that marked the edge of the estate, a figure was coming towards them.

They tensed, but whatever it was that they expected, seeing an old lady slowly hobble her way towards them wasn't it. The aged woman wore a beautiful black kimono, her grey hair caught up in a bun with a pair of long, shiny pins, her arms clasped behind her back.

She reached the decorative wooden gate, stopping at the threshold, and regarded them with sharp eyes and a smile. The three men had not moved since noticing the hidden estate.

The woman spoke Chinese, but all had used Translation charms.

"Are you lost, dears?"

Harry looked at her. _Really_ looked at her. "I think we're right where we need to be."

"That is arguable," she replied. "But where are my manners? Would you like to come in for tea?"

"We'll have to respectfully decline," Neville said from his left. "We're looking for someone."

Harry's ability to sense magic had grown over the years, with skill and intuition and experience all factoring. He sensed no veiling magics at play, yet he still had the distinct impression that the old lady in front of him was the young woman who'd attacked him. He could tell from the way she spoke; the same slow, methodical and deliberate intonation. One that he now recognized from experience. Polyjuice, perhaps? He knew for a fact the results of Polyjuice were hidden even to his senses.

"Is that so?"

He shook his head. "Drop the act."

The old lady smiled, and his two friends gave him a look, but didn't question him. She might not look anything like who they thought they were looking for, but both knew that this could be achieved in many ways.

"Am I distressing you?" she wondered. "My apologies."

Then, the strangest thing happened. She changed. Her already hunched form grew shorted, smaller. Her aged face grew taut and smooth. Her clothes shrank with her, her hair turned black and long, free of its pins. Her -now lovely- face dusted over with white makeup and color in her cheeks.

She couldn't look older than twelve.

Harry felt the Transfiguration on the clothes and makeup, but not the complexity required for Human Transfiguration of this magnitude.

The three of them took in the little girl in front of them, who smiled and took a deep bow.

"Is this better?" she wondered. When none replied, she put a finger on suddenly pouting lips. "No?"

Not waiting for a reply, she changed again. She grew taller, wider in places, her clothes and makeup growing with her. Her hair snaked up on its own and pulled itself into a familiar knot, and suddenly Harry was staring at the exact woman who had invaded his home.

His wand slipped into his hand.

"Mister Potter," she said, for the first time addressing him directly. "I have to admit I am surprised to see you here."

"Surrender," Harry said without preamble. "Come quietly and subject yourself to trial on British soil."

She laughed. A soft, becoming sound. Harry had expected something of the sort.

"I am quite sure you have no jurisdiction on my side of the world, Director."

Harry nodded. "That is true. It won't stop me."

One moment her hands were clasped and the next, a long, springy wand was held delicately on her left. Harry saw it slip down her sleeve, but Neville and Bill's eyes widened at the sudden appearance.

"You want to initiate violence with me? I would have thought you wiser than that, Mister Potter. I understand what you've done. The sheer complexity of the charmswork is nothing short of genius, but can you deal with all the sensory input? Can you avoid being distracted by all the sounds and smells and details that you're taking in?"

"I wouldn't be here if I thought otherwise."

Miss Chang smiled again. "Do you really believe your _Supersensory_ is enough to match my time dilation?"

Harry's lips curved in a smile. "Perhaps not," he said. "But it will be closer to a fair fight than before. Tell me, Miss Chang, how do you feel about the prospect of a fair fight against me?"

Silence reigned as the woman processed this.

Eventually, they heard her chuckle. "I have to say, I had not expected such bluntness. Your old master was always so fond of the pleasantries."

Harry itched to ask her more about Albus, but knew that now was not the time.

"Where are the rest of you?"

An arched eyebrow. "I don't follow, dear."

"The others from your group."

She chuckled. "My group is me, Mister Potter."

Harry frowned, considering whether to believe her or not. In the end, it didn't matter. He couldn't sense anyone else nearby right then.

"Why did you do it?" he asked. "You've never antagonized the British Ministry this brazenly before. You should have known that it wouldn't just be forgotten."

"You had something I needed to fulfill my function."

"The file," Harry said, brow furrowed. She nodded.

"Poor Miss Calaghan's disappearance first drew my attention, and I've been looking closely ever since. However, forensics was never my strong suit. I needed the results of your investigation to confirm."

"Confirm what?"

"That this is, indeed, a case for me. I know who your killer is, Mister Potter. If you let me go quietly, I will take care of him. How does that sound?"

"Unacceptable." Harry shook his head. "Tell me," he commanded. "Tell me everything."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"People are _dead_ ," he all but yelled, and felt Neville's hand rest on his elbow, grounding him. They knew to let him do the talking, but they were still there and offered what support they could. He took a deep breath, before continuing in a calmer fashion. "And your theft has halted our efforts to stop it. If you think I'll just trust you with this, you're crazy."

Miss Chang watched him, her expression revealing little. Silence reigned for a few seconds.

"Your mentor taught you well, I see."

Harry's confusion must have shown on his face. "What do-"

"Come with me, then," she interrupted him with a smile, her red lips striking against the white of her make-up.

"What do you mean?"

"If you don't trust me to take care of it, come and bear witness. You would need my assistance to reach him, and in this way you stop pointing your wand my way. Profitable for everyone, yes?"

Harry took that in, exchanging a look with his friends. Neville looked tense, but Bill gave him a nod.

Harry extended his senses as further as he could but, beyond the blazing magic of the estate in front of them, felt no other presence in the area.

"They're coming too," he said, jerking his head to the side to indicate his two companions.

"Of course you may bring your friends. Come along, now," she said as stowed away her wand and turned her back to them, starting a steady walk back the way she came, through the grounds and towards the house. The three of them followed closely. Harry considered dropping the combination of charms that kept him hyper-aware, but decided against it.

"Is the murderer using time-travel somehow?" he asked.

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"A hunch, maybe. The unexpected disappearances, Miss Calaghan's unexplained aging when she was found, and your own organization's single-minded involvement with crimes involving tampering with time."

"Spoken like a proper Auror. Yes, unfortunately you are correct."

"I've never seen time-travel used like that."

"No, I expect you haven't," she said, and to Harry's surprise, her tone wasn't the fake jovial one she'd used so far.

They walked in silence, the traditional wooden house growing much larger the closer they went. The garden and the ponds were breathtaking. By the way Neville was practically salivating, many of these must have been rare.

"You were wrong, you know," he said eventually.

"Regarding what?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry replied. "Yes, we were close, but he never taught me magic directly."

Miss Chang turned to him, giving him a knowing look.

"Surely you know that the last thing a man like him had to pass on were magic lessons."

Harry considered her words for a few seconds, memories of his time with the venerable headmaster floating through his mind.

"I suppose," he conceded. "But you don't understand what it was like, back then."

"Explain it to me, then."

"Professor Dumbledore had a plan, one that I learned after his death and followed. This plan was not one I would survive. He knew I had to die, he wasn't grooming me for anything."

She looked at him again, a smile playing on her lips.

"And yet here you are."

Harry shook his head. "He couldn't have known it would turn out like this. That was a fluke."

"Knowledge and hope are two different things, Mister Potter, but each one powerful in their own way. Old Albus had a function to perform, as surely as I do, and he hoped you'd take over for him once he was gone." She winked at him. "I think he would be proud of you, yes?"

Harry said nothing else, this much already being a lot to swallow. They reached the house in the next few steps but, rather than be let inside, Miss Chang led them around, following the patio as they circled around the mansion.

"I would offer you tea, but I'm afraid time does not permit. We leave immediately."

Neville looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow. With a burst of focus, Harry extended his senses again. Nothing. He gave a slight nod, which seemed to be enough for Neville.

Miss Chang's slow steps led them down from the patio into another, smaller path. After winding around a few colorful bushes, the path stopped in front of a small, circular wooden construction. It reminded Harry of a gazebo or a shrine, but its wooden surfaces were solid and there was a door at the front.

Harry felt … _something,_ from inside. No single presence exactly, but there was magic in there for sure, of a kind he couldn't quite place. It pulled and pushed and twisted, like a maelstrom. He was surprised he hadn't felt that from the road.

Miss Chang extended a hand to open it, before pausing, hand frozen in the air as if struck by a sudden thought. "Mm, I know," she murmured before retracting the hand and turning to look at him. "You go in first, Mister Potter."

He felt Bill's strong hand on his shoulder as the taller man took a step forward. "Not a chance," the Weasley said, brow creased.

"You go first," Neville said in turn, looking at Miss Chang with narrowed eyes.

"Relax, dears. This is no trap. In there is our, shall we say, ride. It differs from person to person, and I was merely curious."

"Well then-"

"It's fine, Neville," Harry cut him off, turning his head to give his friend a nod. "It'll be fine."

Neville's lips were a thin line, but he gave a sharp nod of his own and said nothing else.

 _Nothing for it_. Harry walked forward, pushing the door gently open; and walked into the light.

~H~

Harry took slow steps into the vast expanse around him. A place so gigantic it wouldn't even fit into the entire grounds of Miss Chang's property, let alone the small closed-off gazebo.

He knew this place. It was different, but he knew it. He'd been here before.

He heard the others slowly follow him, passing through the doorway of light and stepping into the platform, eyes immediately roving around in curiosity, taking in the bright gray and near stark-white surfaces.

"A train station," he heard Miss Chang deadpan from behind him. "Your idea of a gateway that crosses the realms of time and space is a _train station_. How … English."

"This is amazing," he heard Neville murmur, and it was. Harry's memory of the last time he'd seen this version of King's Cross had been faint and no matter how he'd tried, he couldn't pull it out for use in a Pensieve. Still, seeing it now, again, he remembered everything.

"It's empty," Bill noted.

"Indeed," chimed Miss Chang, coming to a stop next to Harry. "How are we supposed to get anywhere like this, Mister Potter? Follow the tracks?"

"We're in a train station, you say," Harry replied, a smile playing on his lips. "I think if we so desire, we'll be able to board a train."

No sooner had he finished his sentence than a train materialized at the edge of the visible tracks, where the light's intensity grew and obscured further vision. It wasn't a steamer like the Hogwarts Express, either. It was one of those fancy smooth and sleek ones Harry would see in recent years but hadn't actually boarded yet.

The train slid silently along the tracks, coming to a smooth stop in front of them. A door opened.

Harry turned, smiling at the woman next to him. "Shall we?"

They all climbed aboard, finding the interior colored the same white, with long lines of comfortable-looking seats until the end of the wagon.

The door slid closed behind them.

"Now what?" Neville asked when nothing happened.

"This is where Mister Potter's involvement ends," Miss Chang replied, hands hidden inside her sleeves. "Despite this being his version of the Vortex, it still needs me to operate it."

"Shouldn't we be heading for the driver's car then?" Bill questioned.

"This is a metaphor," Miss Chang replied. "We don't have to actually be in the driver's seat for it to work. But I suppose there's no harm in it, is there?"

They moved along the walkways and through wagons until they reached the first one, opening the door and letting themselves into the driver's control room. Neville and Bill took two seats at the back, while Miss Chang and Harry sat by the instruments.

Upon taking the driver's seat, Miss Chang instantly began pulling levers and pushing buttons, seemingly at random.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Harry asked.

"Remember, Mister Potter. This is a metaphor."

As if to confirm her words, the train began to noiselessly slide forward, picking up speed until it reached the edge of the station and plunged right into the near-solid wall of white light at the end of the visible tracks.

After that, Harry still felt the very light jostling of the train's movement, but all they could see outside the windows was white.

"How long will it take to get there?" he wondered after perhaps fifteen minutes.

"You are the one who manifested a train, Mister Potter," Miss Chang reminded him, sounding irritated. "You _should_ know that it's not the fastest mode of transportation."

Harry didn't ask again.

"You mentioned you know who the killer is."

"I did."

"Tell me more."

Miss Chang gave a sharp nod, though she didn't turn to look at him. "You were right, earlier. He's using time-travel to forcibly bring his victims to the past. Miss Calaghan was no fluke."

"Who is he?"

He sees her expression harden, made all the more severe by the make-up.

"I will not say."

Harry exhales. "Miss Chang, if we're to work together-"

"I understand what you're saying, Mister Potter. I want to cooperate, but his name I will not share."

"Why not?"

"No one will know him. No one will think about him. After his death he will be forgotten, as if he never existed. I will not name him."

Harry processed this for a minute, noting the sheer fury laced in her tone. This was more than a duty; this was personal.

"How does he do it, then?" he asked instead. "Our Ministry's research division is quite capable, but nothing we're aware of could yield such controlled trips so far back."

Her face turns to him momentarily, just long enough to give him an irritated glance.

"Save me your Auror needling, Mister Potter. You already have a theory. Share it so I might confirm."

"Your method is the first time I've heard of time-travel of this scale being possible," Harry notes. "It's not unreasonable that the killer is using the same or a similar one."

"And what do you conclude?"

"You taught him."

Silence reigned for a minute.

"Not … exactly," she finally admitted. "Yes, he appears to be using a bastardized copy of the Vortex, but I did not teach him directly."

"How did it happen, then?"

"He … he has spent long years by my side," she said and Harry noted how strongly she was gripping the lever in front of her, how tightly her jaw was set. "He must have been slowly studying it, while I was unaware. One day, he wasn't there. I had assumed that he simply left. Not … this."

"And then you found out about the murders?"

She nodded. "It was then that I realized what had really happened. So you see, Mister Potter, I have a personal stake in seeing this case coming to a permanent close."

Harry digested this. "What is his goal?" he asked. "Why is he kidnapping and killing people?"

She looked at him then, giving him a strange look with pursed lips.

"He has always fancied himself a researcher," she said, "a pioneer in pushing our understanding of magic further. But he was too careless, the safety of his subjects always the least of his priorities. The Emperor himself removed him from service and destroyed his facility. He claimed to have reformed, seen the error of his ways … and I believed him. Like a fool, I believed him."

"Human experimentation?" Harry heard Neville mutter from behind him, horrified. He shared the sentiment.

They finally had everything they needed to paint a clear picture of what had happened. All that was missing was the killer's name. Then again … they were heading there to witness Miss Chang end the threat she'd created. Perhaps her wish that he remain unnamed was one Harry could respect, considering the degree of personal involvement. He didn't technically have official jurisdiction here, after all.

~H~

They arrived in a storm of fire and lightning. Literally.

From the endless whiteness of before, the train seemed to pass some sort of boundary before bursting back into the world, though not without resistance. For the first time in their journey they had to hold on as the train bucked, threatening to throw them from their seats as it fought to stay level. From the window panels they could see fire, coming to life all along the length of the train and trailing behind it, flashes of lightning and the echoes of thunder breaking the monotony of the earlier silence.

Harry did not speak to Miss Chang, for he could see her expression locked in concentration as she struggled to control the train's mad spinning and turning. He noticed how high they were, followed quickly by the realization that they were losing altitude; and quickly. They were dropping fast and wildly enough that Harry couldn't distinguish the blue of the sky from that of the ocean.

Their loss of control ended as unexpectedly as it arrived, the train righting itself moments before presumably crashing into the water. They flew, a hundred or so meters above the serene surface of the ocean, and Harry took the reprieve to control his breathing.

"My apologies for the turbulence," Miss Chang broke the silence. "Going backwards was easy enough, but going _sideways_ is always the tricky part."

Harry felt more than saw Bill's grin and turned to glare at the redhead. That was enough for him to close his mouth and swallow whatever crude remark he was no doubt about to say, but not enough to stop him from wagging his eyebrows suggestively. Harry snorted.

"There," Miss Chang announced, drawing their attention to a tiny speck of land, visible down below. Everywhere else Harry looked, nothing but endless blue met his gaze.

The train gently set down on the surface of the water, the driver's car breaking through the relatively small ways and carving its way through as it approached the island. The transition from water to sand was seamless and the train came to a halt, spread out along the beach.

They filed outside, eager to leave the train's confines.

"Where are we?" Bill wondered, looking around. The beach went on, looping around after a few hundred meters, vegetation starting at a hill maybe fifty meters in, obscuring vision deeper into the island.

"Somewhere in the Mediterranean, I would say," Neville responded, looking critically at the trees and the rocks that were lining the beach.

"When are we?" Harry asked.

From his side, Miss Chang responded. "August 17th, the year of your calendar 737."

"Is this where the killer is hiding?"

She nodded.

"Those are some impressive compulsion charms," Bill noted, wand in hand. "Muggles won't be approaching this place for miles."

Harry had felt them, too. The island was blanketed by charms. As Bill said, this place would never be found by mundane people, and no wizard would have reason to look for it in the middle of the ocean.

More importantly, whoever had set up the protections had been expecting company.

"He knows we're here," Harry said, looking at the woman by his side.

"Of course. He knew this was inevitable."

"There have to be traps set up."

"No doubt. Feel free to stay by the train while I take care of it."

Harry said nothing, only fell into step beside her as she started heading further into the island, entering the vegetation and heading in a straight line, as if she knew where she was going. They'd seen the entirety of the island from above though. It wasn't that big, so whatever they were looking for couldn't really hide.

Among the trees, they did encounter a few magical traps. Nothing particularly imaginative and with Bill and himself there, most of them didn't even go off. A few tongues of flames and delayed explosions blew harmlessly while they stood a safe distance away. Some cursed trees were destroyed before they were anywhere close enough for their enchanted limbs to reach for them.

Their march went mostly unmolested.

"Guys," Neville said, half an hour after their arrival, "I think we found it."

The rest of them turned and joined Neville where he was, in a small opening between rocks and trees.

Through it, they could see the forestation clear. There, on the top of a small hill, was a tower, its base built like a small fortress. Harry turned to Miss Chang, an eyebrow raised.

"We're here," she confirmed. "He always did have a flair for the dramatic."

"Do we just walk right up to it?"

A small frown marred her features. "Let's get a bit closer, but stay behind me. There's something off."

The three of them followed her suggestion, walking slowly behind her as she made her way towards the tower, wand in hand.

Perhaps two dozen paces from the wooden gate, she stopped.

"I see," she said.

"What is it?"

"He created a small pocket in time. A bubble, if you will, inside which time flows according to his whims."

"I assume walking into that would be bad for us."

"Astute observation, Mister Weasley. Now, hang back a bit, I'm going to bring it down."

Harry, who had never before heard of such a thing being possible, deferred to the expert and took a few steps back. Miss Chang's arms rose, her wand swaying gently this way and that, brief golden sparkles emitting from its tip. Harry's _Supersensory_ , long since dialed down to its base form, caught the faint chanting she took up and his eyes followed the path of her wand.

A minute or so later, the tower shuddered. It shimmered, gaining a sheen to it before fading, reverting back to its original appearance. Miss Chang sagged slightly, letting out a heavy exhale.

"Is it done?" he asked.

"Yes. Let us head in and end this farce."

She wasn't even trying to make her tone civil at this point, but Harry didn't comment on it. This was personal to the Chinese woman, and there was nothing he could say that would calm her.

They approached the gate that, to Harry's senses, wasn't magically trapped. A wave of Miss Chang's wand saw it opened, darkness revealed from inside.

Without hesitation the four of them walked on, crossing the boundary, their steps now echoing against the solid stone floor.

Behind them the gate closed of its own accord, plunging them in total darkness. Four wands lit up, bathing the corridor in light.

Miss Chang sucked in a breath, drawing Harry's attention.

"What is it?"

"A double layer," she replied. "He is … more devious than I anticipated. He's negated time alterations within the bounds of his tower. I can't bring it down while in its effect. My time-dilation is nullified, too."

Harry could tell, because her speech had lost its forced quality. She no longer had to calculate while speaking at high speed so that it would sound normal to other people. Her trump card was gone.

He turned to look at the closed gate. It shone brightly to his eyes, magic flowing into it from the walls all around, strengthening it and making sure it remained closed. Breaking it open would be tough without finding the source of the enchantment, but not impossible.

"Sounds like you were expected," Bill mirrored his thoughts.

"No matter," Miss Chang growled, her grip on her wand tightening.

"He's planned for you," Neville warned. "Maybe you should rethink your strategy."

"Enough talk," she ground out, beginning to walk further down the corridor. "Stay here if you're so worried."

Harry shared a look with Neville and Bill and shook his head, before opening his stride to catch up to Miss Chang. He didn't quite trust her, and he didn't owe her anything, but their interests were aligned for now. This man, who had stolen secrets of time better left forgotten, could not be allowed free reign.

They broke into a hall, of sorts. It wasn't particularly big, nor furnished. A few closed doors lined the walls while stairs led higher into the tower. The only notable feature were the massive support columns that lined the area.

"What do you sense, Mister Potter?"

Harry closed his eyes for a second.

"There's someone casting magic on the floor above," he revealed. "And there's nine more people arrayed around him. Weak and faint, but they're there."

Perhaps a ritual of some sort? The equidistant placement of the weaker presences wasn't lost on Harry, who had seen enough in his time as an Auror to get a sinking feeling then.

"I think we found the missing people," Neville murmured.

"Come," Miss Chang commanded, taking the stairs. They followed.

The door at the top was unlocked. What they found on this floor made Harry's fists clench.

Lining nearly every available surface were shelves, workbenches, or machinery the use for which Harry could not imagine. A far cry from the abandoned ground floor, this space was used and filled to the max.

Strapped to grotesque bonds of metal and wood lay the victims, naked, injured and bleeding.

In the middle of the floor, amid the support column, was the man. The first thing Harry noticed about him was his attire. A black long-sleeved shirt lay beneath an apron that had at one point been white. Now it was anything but, covered with grime and blood, some of it dry while some still dripping from its edges.

The warlock himself must at some point have been handsome, judging by his angular characteristics and physique, but he'd apparently let himself go. His dark, greying hair and beard were dirty, unkempt and uncut.

As soon as they entered, the man smiled, revealing yellowing teeth.

"I knew you'd come sooner or later, my dear."

"Do not call me that," Miss Chang hissed, the hand holding her wand trembling with fury. "Never call me that."

The man cocked his head to the side. "You used to like it so. What changed? Have I been remiss in sending letters? As you can see, I'm not seeing anyone. This is merely work. The company can get rather … stale."

"Harry," Neville whispered, leaning close to him. "We need to help these people. They're badly hurt."

Harry nodded. He knew that, but he hadn't made a move yet because he didn't know what these contraptions they were strapped on where, only that they were thrumming with an energy that gave him goosebumps.

"Try to get them down, once it starts," he replied in an equal whisper, receiving a quick nod.

He turned his attention to Miss Chang and the warlock, who hadn't stopped their conversation.

"... and by my authority as Miss Chang, this madness ends now," the Chinese woman was saying.

"Authority?" the man replied with a chuckle. "You have no authority but the one you claim for yourself. How cruel and arrogant of you and everyone before you. You've hoarded so many secrets, so much knowledge- and for what? What have you done with it? Nothing."

"The scope of my purpose is beyond your understanding. Evidently."

"I never bought that lie!" the man barked back. "And now I have the results to prove it! You came to stop me? You won't. See for yourself; witness what I have achieved with the knowledge you so selfishly stole and hoarded!"

As he spoke his wand hand rose, and several things happened at once.

Miss Chang took a step forward, arm and wand extended, fully intending to curse the man- but stopped. She turned her head to look at the trapped woman to her right, who was suddenly writhing, mouth open in a silent scream even as her eyes stared straight forward without moving.

With a start, Harry realized that the same thing was happening to all the victims that had been lodged on the metal contraptions. They were straining against their bonds soundlessly, but evidently in great pain.

In front of each of the victims, whose thrashing was ceasing as quickly as it had appeared, the air blurred. In the small spaces in which reality appeared to warp, figures appeared.

Copies of the man, nine in total, exactly the same and each with a wand in hand, appeared, one in front of each of the bound people.

"What have you done?" Miss Chang's quiet words sounded eerily clear in the loaded silence. Harry turned to her, shocked at the look of utter horror and revulsion on her painted face.

"You madman," she whispered, as if in disbelief. "What have you _done_?"

"Look! Look what I can do!" the warlock replied, excited. "An infinitesimal fraction of a second from my future or past from which I pull myself to the present. And the best part, I can do that however many times I want! The loss of a moment here and there is _nothing_! You could never do that, but I could. All I needed was-"

"Harry!" Neville sounded from his left, alarm and panic in his voice. "They're dying!"

Neville's frantic yell broke the tense and momentary stalemate. Miss Chang snarled, unleashing a spell towards the man and interrupting his raving. Instantly, the nine copies also opened fire, and chaos erupted.

It was all Harry could do to cover Neville in his mad dash towards the closest bound person, a few meters in front of him, shielding him from several of the copies who had decided to attack them. All around, spells whizzed, shields flared and explosions rocked the building as Miss Chang attacked the original man and Bill did his best to distract as many of the others as he could.

Neville himself was firing off spells blindly from his wand as he run, until he finally reached a bound man, half-hiding behind the machine while frantically checked for vital signs.

Harry knew it was pointless. From the moment Neville had shouted, he'd known his friend was wrong. Those people weren't dying; they were dead already. Whatever the man had done to allow him to bring time-traveling versions of himself here, it had cost these people their lives.

He swung his wand to the right in a jerky, wide motion. Instantly, one of the men advancing on them was blown off his feet, span in mid-air before smashing back down on the ground and hitting his head at an angle. From the crack, Harry knew the man was dead.

His eyes instantly flew to the original, still locked in a furious duel with miss Chang, who was flinging curses both magical and verbal.

The man was still there. The death of his future or past self had not affected him in any way. Harry could have maybe accepted that by saying that the one who died was the future him, but then he saw Bill levitate a workbench and smash it into another copy in a vivid display of gore, and knew that not to be true.

Whatever the man had done, he had broken the cardinal rule of time-travel, its one constant; the loop.

He had no more time to think though, as Neville was joining the fight in earnest now and he no longer had to focus on protecting him. There were copies of the man everywhere Harry looked, moving around the support columns, coming at them from all sides.

Harry blocked a barrage of spells coming his way, curses and hexes that he recognized, before sending a single of his own out. It pierced right through the shimmering shield the copy in front of him erected before lodging itself into and through the man's chest.

Off to his right, the two copies that were assaulting Bill were making the entire tower shake with their endless barrage of exploding curses. Bill would deflect them or hide behind supports for cover, but they took out huge chunks off the walls and columns.

The fight seemed to turn in their favor after Neville's transfigured rat swarm brought down another copy in a cacophony of pitiful screams, but then time seemed to still.

Harry felt what was about to happen a split-second before it did.

Miss Chang, too absorbed in her duel with the original warlock, wasn't able to turn in time to shield herself against the pair of spells sent towards her by two of the copies across the room. The bolts of light slammed into the Chinese woman's side, blasting her off her feet and slamming her against the nearest stone column with enough force to shatter it. The column came down in pieces, bringing a good chunk of the ceiling down with it, obscuring Harry's vision of the scene with debris and a sudden cloud of dust.

"No!" he screamed and slashed his wand, but was too late. His curse took a man in the abdomen and cleaved right through him at the same time as Neville's fire-whip curled around another's throat, but they could not prevent the assault on Miss Chang.

A frustrated swipe of his wand scattered the dust cloud, revealing the carnage. Miss Chang was lost, buried under the rubble, the only visible part of her being her left arm, shoulder and head. Her wand lay discarded an inch away from her unmoving hand, and blood was pooling around her. Her makeup had been ruined, distorting her pained expression further. The wooden pins holding her bun aloft had been lost, her now disheveled hair fanning around her like a macabre curtain.

Harry had no more time to look at his fallen ally, as two of the remaining men had turned towards him. Seething, he turned his wand to them.

The battle didn't last long after that. Harry and Neville made short work of the remaining copies on their side, and Bill finally ended the string of explosions one copy favored when he deflected one of the man's curses back to him.

The ceiling groaned, stones dislodging and falling regularly. All around them, most of the support columns had been destroyed, and several parts of the wall were missing. Harry did not let the tilting of the floor hinder him as he advanced on the original man. The killer's eyes were gleaming, a crazed look in his eyes and a satisfied smile on his face even as he spewed obscenities at Harry and his friends.

A jerk of Harry's wand deflected the hasty cutting curse the madman sent his way.

Another saw the man's wand flying out of his hand, much to his sudden anger.

Harry was now no more than five meters away. The man took a step forward, perhaps hoping for physical violence, but Harry did not give him the chance. With a furious snarl he snapped his wand forward, blasting the man back and slamming him against the wall. He slid to the floor in a heap, pained and injured; but alive.

Harry aimed his wand at the man, who was lifted off the ground. All around them, the man's _had-beens_ and _could-have-beens_ lay bleeding and dead.

"Harry," Bill said from his side, looking tired and unnerved but thankfully uninjured. "The place is coming apart. We need to move."

It was all Harry could do to keep his voice level when he spoke, addressing the floating and helpless murderer.

"You are under arrest," he said. "For your crimes, you will be taken to British soil and subjected to trial. Then-"

A voice spoke up then, interrupting him. "A- _arrest_?" he heard it croak out. Harry didn't recognize the voice, so pained and distorted was it. He snapped his head to the right, eyes widening as he took in Miss Chang's broken form. Most of her body was lost under the rubble, but she was still hanging on by the skin of her teeth.

Her wand was held in badly shaking fingers and her head was lifted a few centimeters from the ground. Even covered in blood, grime and dirty make-up, she stared painfully at the man who had stolen and corrupted her life's work, before claiming her own life as well.

"Trial?" she spat, a globule of blood leaving her mouth with the word. "No … I … I won't allow it!"

Her shaky fingers raised the wand and with surprising strength, turned it towards the murderer's floating form. Fire spewed forth from the magical focus; hungry, eager purple flames that snaked around Harry and attached themselves to the man's legs, slowly climbing upward even as his screaming began.

"I name you; deceiver," Miss Chang thundered, with strength Harry wouldn't have attributed to someone with smashed lungs.

"I name you; betrayer!" she shouted again as the flames reached the man's neck. Harry could see the man's flesh blacken and shrivel in places, melt and drip in others.

"And I curse you to _burn_ , from this day till the end of time!"

Harry lowered his wand but the man stayed afloat, now entirely covered in the wicked purple flame. His agonized screams permeated the room as the inferno ate away at his body, revealing the gleaming bone beneath.

Even as Harry watched, some of his flesh knit itself back together, only to be melted off again. The man's bones flickered in and out of sight as the fire fought with whatever it was Miss Chang had done that was keeping the man alive and repairing his body.

"Harry!" Neville shouted in his ear and only then did Harry realized that his friend was gripping his arm like a vice. "This place is coming down. We have to _go_!"

And it was true. The rumbling was getting worse. Dust and stones were falling from the ceiling. The remaining support columns were quickly gaining spidery cracks along their lengths, unable to hold.

Harry's eyes turned away from both his friend and the burning man, instead searching and finding Miss Chang's green pair looking back at him.

Her wand had been dropped and her hand was open, fingers extended his way, reaching. Her expression had lost its fury, now left only with a pleading look, made all the more terrible by blood and grime and what remained of her makeup.

Harry reached her in a few long strides, kneeling down and taking her hand in both of his own. His eyes flit around the rocks, panicked. Only part of Miss Chang's upper body was visible, along with her head and left arm. The rest of her was smashed to a pulp under the weight of the partially collapsed upper floor.

Nothing that Harry knew, nothing that he could do, would possibly save her now. He turned pleading eyes to Neville and Bill, who only returned looks as helpless as his own must have been.

"Look … at me."

His eyes snapped back to the dying woman in front of him. The pool of blood had stopped expanding.

Her hand dislodged from his own and reached up, taking hold of the nape of his neck as he lay hunched over, pulling him further down until his forehead bumped against hers.

From this close, he could hear her agonized breathing as whatever remained of her lungs tried to suck in air and coughed out blood.

Her hand left his neck, picking up her wand again and bringing its badly shaking end to her temple. Her eyes scrunched shut for a second before opening again with a sudden gasp.

The wand tip left her temple, trailing an ethereal white thread with it. With a swift move, the wand tip connected to Harry's own temple, who let all this happen in confusion.

"Take … it," she wheezed amid difficult, short breaths. "Take it all. Learn … _understand_. It falls … to you now, Mister Potter. Find … find Miss Chang. Teach her."

A flash of determination in that pair of green eyes. Red blood was making its way there, too, snaking its way into the whites of her eyes.

"Promise me," she insisted with another hacking breath.

"I promise," Harry managed to whisper, mind nearly overcome with the current assaulting his mind. Memories, experiences, _knowledge_ , things he'd never known or imagined and could barely begin to _comprehend_ all flooding into him.

Then Miss Chang could no longer hold her hand up, dropping it with another shuddering breath.

"Go," she said at last, her resigned voice almost too weak to be heard over the cacophony of the collapsing tower, even though they stood barely centimeters apart.

Her hand lay down and her head lowered itself to flush against the dust-covered floor. Neither moved again.

Harry stood frozen, reeling from her sudden death and from the influx of foreign information that he didn't know what to do with.

"Harry!" Bill's shout broke through his daze as he felt two pairs of strong hands grab both his arms around the shoulders and jerk him to his feet. "We have to go!"

"This tower is coming apart!"

Harry wanted to move, but found that he couldn't, still grappling to distinguish his own memories and mind from those of Miss Chang, who'd shared an enormous part of her life with him.

He knew her name now.

He registered his friends dragging him out of the room, his last look of it a vision of the murderer, still screaming and burning and _screaming_ , even as his tower collapsed around him. Neville and Bill dragged him down through the stairs, going as fast as they could, before making a run for the exit which seemed to only resist a little before being blown off its hinges, revealing their escape.

The two managed to get him out and not a moment too soon, as the tower finally collapsed, losing all coherence as it dropped in on itself, blowing dust and debris everywhere. A quick shield from Neville protected them.

Harry did not register his friends continue to drag him away, too far lost inside his own head.

When he next emerged, he opened his eyes to the shiny white ceiling of what he recognized as train they'd used to get here.

He rose shakily to a sitting position. The bed had been comfortable, and his body felt rejuvenated. The raging whirlwind inside his mind had abated to an intense headache.

He made his way to the driver's wagon. Neville and Bill looked up, relief evident in their faces.

"Hey mate. You gave us a scare."

"How long was I out?"

"An hour or two. Kinda hard to tell in here, if I'm honest."

Harry nodded as he let his body drop on one of the drivers' seats. He let out a heavy breath, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes under his glasses.

"Harry, not to sound rude," Bill began from behind him "but do you know how to drive this thing? Because if not, we're kind of stuck here."

Harry removed his hands from his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. For the first time, he took careful stock of the equipment around him.

He didn't know what any of this did. Not really.

But it didn't matter.

"I do," he replied with a nod, wincing as dozens, hundreds of Miss Chang's memories rose, providing him with an understanding he wouldn't be able to put into words.

His hands reached out, pushing buttons and levers at random.

"It's all a metaphor, after all," he added as an afterthought.

The train lurched into movement.

~H~

Returning to the island, days after making their rather clumsy way back to their own time, turned out to be as simple as Apparating to it.

Harry hadn't thought it possible at first, but Neville suggested it and he found that he couldn't really disagree with the idea. They _had_ been to the place, even if it had been hundreds of years ago. In theory, unless the islands was unrecognizable now, it should work.

Thankfully it did, and the three of them appeared on the beach with a pair of _cracks_ and a _pop_. He'd considered taking the train, but still didn't trust his landings.

Looking around, he immediate difference they noticed was that the island was devoid of vegetation of any kind. It was now entirely comprised of rock, dry soil and sand. The compulsion charms still held; no Muggle had ever known this place existed.

"I've tried looking this place up in the last week," Bill noted as they made their way up the hill to the crumbled remains of the once-tall tower. "I found nothing. If anyone ever found this place, they didn't share."

That was just as well, to Harry, who took to clearing the debris in silence, magically lifting tonne after tonne of stone. Neville and Bill helped him.

There was no remnant of the woman who had troubled him so, these last few weeks, nor the victims. Nothing left. She was completely gone to the passage of time, but she still remained in his mind. Harry Potter would remember Miss Chang.

He understood the scope of her purpose, now. It was right there in his mind, the way the previous Miss Chang had explained it to him. To _her_.

His senses picked up something else. Something that brought a frown to his face.

"Help me on this side," he instructed as they redirected their clearing efforts.

After a few more moved pieces of rubble, they saw it.

The murderer was little more than a skeleton with bits and pieces of muscle and flesh hanging on. He was still burning, faint purple embers slowly and lazily dancing along the surface of his body. There was enough flesh around his neck for him to able to clearly form pitiful moans of pain, half broken pleading and half incoherent screams.

Even now, after over a thousand years, he was _still_ burning.

Harry stared down at the broken, pathetic shell of a man in contemplation. A long, silent minute passed.

"What do we do with him, Harry?" Neville asked softly, from his left. Harry pursed his lips.

He wanted to leave the man there. To pretend he never saw him and let him burn. Rather, to make sure no one _ever_ found this place, muggle or wizard, and let the cursed wretch suffer for the rest of eternity. It would be … satisfying.

Harry let out a sigh, shaking his head, before turning to look to his right.

"Bill?" he asked. "Think there's something we can do?"

The Weasley nodded. "Let me run some diagnostics, and then I'll explain."

It took them a few hours to work out exactly how to break the curse that was keeping the murderer alive and burning. To break one was to break the other, but Harry had no qualms there. He would set the man free, but owed him nothing beyond that.

They watched as the purple flames slowly petered out, vanishing slowly and pitifully. Now, lying against the broken pieces of his tower, the collection of bones and burned flesh that had once been a man opened one half-formed eye to look at Harry, surprisingly lucid after a millennium of torture.

"Thank … you..." the man wheezed with his final breath as whatever magic was anchoring his soul to his broken body was lifted and his spirit was finally released to depart from the realm of the living.

Harry got to his feet, running a hand through his hair as he considered the merits of burying, cremating or even simply _Vanishing_ the remains.

In the end he decided that no, he shouldn't do any of that. That would give the dead wretch acknowledgment, which he deserved to no degree. Harry would honor Miss Chang's wishes.

It took them a few minutes to make a small memorial in her memory and say a prayer. On it, Harry scratched the woman's real name and her date of birth. After that, the three of them sat down on the beach, taking in the sunset on the horizon, each one lost in their thoughts.

"What happens now?" Neville asked at some point, breaking the silence and drawing Harry's attention. His friend looked troubled, in a way.

Harry considered the question. A memory flashed through his mind. One of his own.

He turned to look at the horizon again, a sad smile finding its way to his lips.

"There's someone I have to find."

~Fin~


End file.
